


The Sky is Starless

by gremlins-came-and-got-me (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abused Melissa, DannyxOMC, Dead Jackson, Enslaved Supernatural, Everyone in canon will probably make an appearance at some point, Gen, Gerard is evil, He's a Priest, Illiterate Derek, Illiterate Werewolves, Kate Dies, Kate always dies, Kate is a bitch, Minor cameos will not be tagged, PTSD Derek, PTSD Scott, PTSD Stiles, Permanently Injured Scott, Post second civil war USA, Stiles Stilinski's Name is Mieczysław, Story is marked gen, Story spoiler: Stiles marries Derek to save him, Tags are incomplete, The Sheriff isn't a Sheriff, The council has its own agenda, death and mayhem, kanima jackson, kate is evil, mentions of rape/non-con, no sex in this story, side mpreg, so he thinks, supernatural known, tags are evolving, the sheriff's name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 80,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/gremlins-came-and-got-me
Summary: After California secedes away from the United Coalition of States, in order to keep the peace between the newly freed supernaturals and humans, the established council agrees to allow a human and a supernatural to wed.A general in name only, Stiles Stilinski agrees to marry former compound werewolf Derek Hale. Two problems arise. One: Derek is only thirteen. And two: Stiles has no idea how to care for a werewolf.While Stiles embarks on a speaking tour of California’s colleges, Derek goes to Stiles’ hometown of Beacon Hills where he learns to survive in a human world.But, things are not always as they seem, and the war is a long way from being over.





	1. Front Cover

**Author's Note:**

> All places used in this story are real (with the obvious exception of Beacon Hills). Any resemblance to the real cities has been fabricated. Please remember that this is a work of fiction and does not reflect how these places actually exist. Thank you.
> 
>  **Standard disclaimer:** I do not claim ownership over anything that appears in this story aside from my original characters.


	2. Back Cover




	3. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for the story comes from Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac.
> 
> This is my 2017 Nanowrimo story.
> 
> The story is un-Beta-ed. I am currently editing it. There are a few more chapters to be written.
> 
> Warning: Kate assaults Derek physically (and attempts to sexually assault him as well).

~ * ~

Derek cried out. Master Kate laughed, her head thrown back, eyes closed. Derek curled tighter, tucking his knees against his chest. It left his lower body exposed to her sharp shoes, but at least his soft and squishy organs were safe.

“Oh, sweetie,” Master Kate crooned, leaned down to grip his hair and tug his head back. “Show me those beautiful yellow eyes.”

Obediently, he let his eyes change to beta-yellow for a few seconds. Master Kate spit in his face, following it with a series of quick, hard slaps.

Blood ran from one nostril and he could feel the swelling of his cheek before it healed and was injured again.

Unsatisfied and angered because of his fast healing, Master Kate used her hand in his hair to slam his head against the floor. His skull shattered with each hit, the bone pulverized and the skin split, blood pooling under him. He struggled weakly in her grip, whimpering and whining.

This was it, he thought, this was how he would die. Master Kate would kill him and take another of his siblings for her plaything. And there was nothing he could do to stop her.

Master Kate paused suddenly, head cocked to the side as she stared down at him. Derek blinked his good eye, staring back at her.

“Did you hear that?” she demanded, poking at his side with her toe. He shook his head carefully, aware that the wrong answer (was there even a right one?) would start the beating again.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. It doesn’t become you.” She stalked away.

This time, Derek heard it.

Footsteps, creeping down the hallway outside Master Kate’s throne room.

Too quiet for a human to hear. He turned over, scrabbling at the stone tiles, dragging himself closer to her throne and the box Master Kate kept him in when she wasn’t playing with him, intending to hide behind it.

No one interrupted her when she was with him unless it was important. But, then, all her subjects wore loud shoes and stomped as if they were announcing themselves to the world.

Whoever was outside was not a friend of Master Kate’s, but that didn’t make them a friend of Derek’s either. Master Kate noticed him moving and pressed her foot down in the middle of his back, applying pressure to his spine.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she said, testing the give by bouncing her foot.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, rasping his voice to seem more pathetic. “I thought perhaps you were done and wanted me put away.”

Master Kate wrenched his head back and a cold line of steel notched against his throat.

“You thought,” she said disdainfully, drawing the blade across his throat without cutting him. Derek swallowed against it, a nick opening and dribbling blood down his neck. “Dogs don’t think. They do what they’re told. I did not tell you to put yourself away.”

Master Kate reopened the healed nick, pressing the blade in farther and leaning closer, panting harshly against his ear. Derek could smell the arousal rising off her.

“I’m not through with you yet.” She threw him down and straightened, pulling at her belt and undoing her jeans.

Her head hit the floor at the same time as her pants and Derek stared at her headless body as it swayed and then folded forward. He whimpered as blood splattered him when it landed.

Where Master Kate had been, a man dressed all in black stood. Even his face was swathed in dark cloth. The man raised the sword he’d used to kill Master Kate and Derek scrambled backward, skidding around the throne.

He covered his mouth to stifle his breathing, risking a peek around the stone chair.

The man hadn’t followed him. Instead, he was rifling through Master Kate’s pockets until he pulled out her journal.

Derek knew then that the man was from the traitor army. In that book, Master Kate had listed her assets, her battle plans, and the names of a dozen suspected traitors.

Where were the guards? Shouldn’t Master Kate have been well-guarded?

“Your name, boy,” the man said, and Derek startled at his sudden closeness. He stared at the man, noting his hard eyes, the way the material clung to him as a second skin instead of clothing.

He also noted the weapons the man was holding, including a gun which he pressed to Derek’s temple.

“Your name, your station. What is your position in the hunter army?”

“A-army?” Derek stuttered. “I’m a werewolf. I’m not allowed in any armies.” It never occurred to him to tell the man that he was thirteen or that Master Kate was his owner.

The man blinked slowly, lowering the gun. “Jesus,” he said softly. “You’re just a kid. Just a fucking kid.”

Fucking. Derek knew that word. Master Kate liked to use that word to describe what she did to him. “I’m not fucking now,” he said, and the man choked on air.

“No,” he said, looking back at Master Kate’s body with growing disgust. “No, you’re not.” He climbed to his feet and stuck out a hand. Hesitantly, Derek took it. “Come on; let’s get you out of here.”

“What about…?” A hand covered his eyes as he was led past Master Kate. Derek resisted the urge to pull it down and look his fill. She was dead. Dead! This man had killed her as if she wasn’t such an important human.

The hand dropped as soon as they were in the outside hall. The man kept his hand on Derek though, wrapped around his arm.

Derek was free…mostly.

He didn’t know how human laws worked. Did someone get him now since Master Kate wasn’t alive anymore? What about his family? Would this man take him as a spoil? As a toy?

Derek struggled in the man’s grip, trying to get back to the throne room, back to his box.

Back to Master Kate who could no longer hurt him. Away from the stranger and the unknown.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags are ever-evolving.
> 
> Thanks to all who read this.


	4. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of attempted assault.  
> Kate's assaults are peppered throughout (Derek's memories).  
> A soldier's assault begins after the line: "It was because of what the unit was saying." It ends before the line: "They said that the Argent..."

~ * ~

The first thing Derek noticed was the heady scent of perfumed bodies crowding around him. He flinched when a wayward elbow knocked against his back, the strength behind it completely human, but as a weed-thin thirteen year old that had had no better than a meal a week for as long as his memory stretched, it was enough to send him stumbling forward.

He smashed into the back of the man ahead of him, and the man turned, steadying him with a strong grip on his arm.

“All right there?” the man asked. He was tall with long dark hair pulled into a ponytail at the back of his neck. His eyes, amber-brown and concerned bored through Derek. His scent sparked something familiar inside Derek but it squirmed away the more he tried to follow it, too many others around for him to really understand what it meant.

Derek nodded mutely. He couldn’t speak, wouldn’t. His voice was still gone from the nightmare of Master Kate, and he did not trust the human ears to catch his reedy whimper, not with their hearing.

He was alone, heading to a council that would decide his fate.

Why he couldn’t stay with his family, he didn’t understand. Mom and Laura had already been relocated by the time the missive demanding his presence had arrived.

Dad and Cora were sent away too.

All his aunts, uncles, and cousins were allowed to leave.

Only Mom’s youngest brother Peter was left to comfort Derek when he worried that the council would give him to another Master Kate.

The last Derek was allowed with his pack was a quick kiss on his temple from his uncle before they too were separated and Peter was shipped to where the rest of the pack was being given a parcel of land to establish grounds while Derek was sent to the council.

Now, the man who had touched him was standing before the council, Derek’s arm still in his grasp.

“General Stilinski,” the human elder, a bald man with dark skin, a graying goatee, and beady black eyes said, “you come before us today as a hero and as a human. What can we the council do for you?”

The man, General Stilinski snorted. “You requested I arrive before you today. I have. What news of you of my impending nuptials?”

The human elder smiled and waved Derek forward. “Your bridegroom, General.”

Derek froze. Bridegroom? Nuptials? Those words meant nothing to him. Why was he being pulled forward? Why was he here?

“Stiles Stilinski,” the werewolf elder, a woman with her long hair swept into a bun, frown lines lining her face, intoned. She leaned forward to point one sharp claw at the General. “You have chosen Derek Hale as your mate. The council would like to know why.”

The General shrugged, scratching at his patchy beard. “When I first encountered Derek Hale, he was being tortured by Kate Argent.” The room didn’t react but the sweep of cold and guilt poured down from the occupants. Derek shrank in on himself, trying to hide behind the General again. This was no place for a werewolf without his alpha.

“You decided that the best way to ensure brokered peace was by pairing supernaturals with humans.” General Stilinski clapped a hand onto Derek’s shoulder, squeezing in sympathy as Derek jerked under his touch. “Do you know how many comments I heard regarding the ‘availability of the Argent’s whore’?”

Derek shook, tremors rocking his body because the General, the man who was marrying him, was the same man that had stolen into the room with Master Kate and killed her before she could rape him. He knew he was indebted to the man, but he couldn’t have guessed that marriage was the price to pay.

“I couldn’t let you open the possibility of someone just as bad as Kate Argent taking him just because they were human. With this marriage to Derek Hale, I promise to treat him with as much respect as he deserves, with love and kindness and no more abuse.”

No more abuse? But, then, why hadn’t Derek been sent to live with his family? Why was he still standing here while people who had no connection to him were discussing his future?

He wished desperately for an intact voice to protest the marriage, to tell them that this was just as bad as Master Kate and maybe worse, for he knew what to expect with Master Kate. What could he hope for in a man who refused to let him go home, wherever that home might be?

“So then,” the werewolf elder said, “the council agrees to your terms. You and Derek Hale shall be married at the end of the day. Thank you for your service, General Stilinski.”

“A pleasure, Alpha Satomi.” The General used his grip on Derek’s shoulder to guide him to the exit. “Thank you, council.” Then the door swung shut behind them with a loud bang.

It was, Derek thought, like a door slamming closed. One life ended and another begun.

~ * ~

After the meeting with the council, Derek was whisked away by a group of women and men, all supernaturals, all smelling happy and excited.

One of the women, a middle-aged wyvern-changeling with dyed orange hair and freckles all over her exposed skin, chucked at Derek’s chin, ignoring his sharpened teeth as he gave a warning nip.

“So lucky!” she cooed. “If I got to marry _any_ of the generals, of our _saviors_ , why, I don’t know what’d I do with myself!”

“Probably faint,” a man, smooth tanned skin, dark hair and even, white teeth, said, a hint of a smile in his voice to defuse the bite of his words. He grinned at Derek, dimples pocking his cheeks merrily before he hefted him up and over his shoulder.

“Danny, don’t,” the wyvern said. “Put him down please. He’s not a thing to be carried about like a child.”

Danny stopped moving, setting Derek back on the ground. He kept a hand on his shoulder though, as if to stop Derek from running away. “He is a child,” he said. “Look at him. He’s, what, ten? Eleven?”

“Thirteen,” Derek corrected quietly.

“He’s a young boy. And he’s being married off to a man more than twice his age. If all you can do is congratulate him on his continued victimization, then you can leave.”

Danny didn’t pick Derek up again, but he used his grip to steer Derek toward a small chamber down one of the hallways. Derek sneezed at the heavy sage scent that only increased when a small goblin-creature propped open the door. The oil of his skin oozed the sage smell, and Derek pressed his hand over his mouth and nose to block it.

“Simon.” Danny nodded.

“Daniel.” The goblin nodded back, his little black tufts of hair bobbing long after he stopped moving. “So, this is the child-bride,” Simon said, eyeing Derek.

Derek fidgeted under his scrutiny, the weight of his gaze like a sprung trap, the beady green of his pupils like the teeth snapping closed on Derek’s neck.

“Technically, he’s a bridegroom,” Danny said impassively. He turned, flicking a finger at the door, and it slammed in the wyvern’s face. Then, he moved to a ewer and poured rose-scented water over a thin towel. He handed the towel to Simon, who mopped at his slimy skin. The rose did not dispel the sage, and in fact, the mixture made Derek’s stomach turn until his mouth was filled with saliva and his stomach was clenched in an effort to keep from expelling the meager breakfast he’d been fed in the barracks this morning.

“Just a moment,” Danny said, tapping the side of Derek’s nose. Almost immediately, the sickening stench faded away.

“You’re a spark,” Derek said, awed. His mother used to tell stories of great peace keepers, followers of the telluric currents, creatures who could pass as human but were braver, brighter, and smarter than the hunters.

“Druid, actually,” Danny corrected him. “Listen, Derek. I know the council approved General Stilinski’s marriage to you, but I want you to know that you don’t have to go through with it. We will fight for your freedom. We will stand with you.”

“Is this marriage necessary to maintain peace?” Derek asked. “What will happen if I don’t get married?”

Simon and Danny exchanged a look that Derek hadn’t seen since the night his mother had chosen to give him to Master Kate. It was a look that mean unsavory things needed to be suffered for the survival of others.

“I don’t mind,” he said, crossing his fingers behind his back, hoping that his voice wouldn’t give away the fear he felt clawing its way up from his chest. “I’m used to things like this.”

Three years as Master Kate’s pet, as her plaything, as her bedmate. There was nothing that General Stilinski could do to him that he hadn’t already suffered.

Danny’s face darkened, and his brows drew low over his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to go through that. Especially not again.”

“General Stilinski has promised that he will not touch me,” Derek said. “Do you trust his word?”

Danny’s face settled a bit. “I used to,” he said. “When we were in school together. Then, he joined the Rebel Alliance and I was left to fight behind the scenes. He may have killed the Argent overlord, but he could not have reached her compound without my help. The very fact that he offered to wed you means he is not the same man I knew.”

“War changes people,” Simon said. “None of us are the same as we were, Daniel. I for one trust that General Stilinski will keep to his word. If he doesn’t, he will have to answer to us. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Danny held out his fist. Simon set his atop and smashed it down.

“For the ceremony, I will have to bless the union,” Danny explained. “I do not know if I can truly bless it, so I may bring in a few others to help, just so that it isn’t screwed up. I don’t want to accidentally be the bad witch from a fairytale.”

“Before even that,” Simon broke in, “you will need a bath. You, my poor child, are as terrible smelling as they come.”

~ * ~

Derek stood still while Danny trimmed his hair with a few snips of a pair of shears pressed close to his skull. The curls of hair drifted to the ground, the hairs itching his skin where they landed. Derek couldn’t remember the last time his hair had been cut. Master Kate liked to use it as a handle, liked to pull on it or jerk him around by it. It felt strange not to have the weight of it anymore. It felt nice.

After Simon the goblin had left, taking his stomach-turning stench with him, Derek had been able to sniff the room, the wards that someone, probably Danny, had laid, and the sweets wrapped in cellophane in Danny’s pocket.

A too-long glance at the bulging pocket resulted in Danny sighing and digging a sweet out to give to him.

Derek tucked it into his cheek, sucking at it while he crinkled the wrapper between his fingers. Honey and sugar. A little bit of a tang.

Derek finished it quickly and looked hopefully back at Danny.

“No,” he said. “You’ll spoil your supper.”

“Supper?” Derek asked, turning to face forward again with more than a little help from Danny. General Stilinski was generous enough to give Derek supper? But, he’d already had breakfast. More food was unheard of.

“You’re too thin,” Danny murmured, pressing a dry kiss to the crown of Derek’s head.

“Food,” Derek said. He reached into Danny’s pocket and dug out another sweet. This one was bitter and dark, melting on his tongue.

“Fine. Just don’t tell anyone that I fed you.”

Danny tossed a dark blue shirt at Derek. It fell almost to his knees when he pulled it on. The pants Danny gave him were not any better, and Derek had to roll them up.

Danny hummed while he studied Derek before snapping his fingers. The clothing shrank, fitting around Derek’s body without hanging off him.

The door banged open and Simon stomped in. He paused, wrinkling his nose at them. “Parlor trick,” he declared before slamming two slimy hands onto Derek’s arm. “This is real magic, my dear.” The heat from his hands raced down Derek’s skin, pooling in his hand. When he pulled away, the heat dissipated into white cloth that encased Derek’s arm from his fingers to his elbow. Simon grabbed his other arm and repeated the procedure.

Danny shrugged. “Druids can’t make something out of nothing,” he said. “So, yes, our ‘magic’ will always appear to be parlor tricks for goblins and other shifters with natural magic in their bodies.”

“Why gloves?” Derek asked. Was there some human ritual that required it? Wouldn’t eating damage the gloves since it was performed with fingers?

“Gloves are cool,” Simon sniffed, “besides, don’t you like them?”

“I want food,” Derek said. “Not clothing. You can’t eat clothes.”

Simon poked his ribs and Derek frowned at him. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get you a sandwich or something. Come on, the kitchen is this way.”

~ * ~

Derek kicked at the legs of the stool he’d been sat on in the kitchen, waiting patiently while Danny and Simon argued over the suit he was supposed to wear. Derek wanted to stay in the clothes that Danny had made for him but he didn’t think he would get a choice. So, he focused on eating the bowl of grapes set on the counter in his reach.

Master Kate used to taunt him with food sometimes. Derek couldn’t count the number of times she’d “accidentally” dropped a crumb or bite of fruit and then expected him to clean it up with his tongue.

He squished one of the green globes between his fingers, lapping at the juice that spilled. Master Kate had appreciated his skill. In fact, he’d used his tongue to get out of a few beatings. Now, though, Danny and Simon paused in their yelling and stared at him horrified.

“A child should not do such things,” Simon finally said.

Danny’s eyes blazed in heated anger. “Do not blame him,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m sure that is learned behavior, not something he does of his own volition.”

“I didn’t soil the gloves,” Derek said, pressing on another grape. He didn’t lick the juice this time, but he felt bad about wasting food so he ate it anyway.

His stomach hurt a little from the sandwich, grapes, and the little cake thing that Simon said would be served at the wedding.

“That’s true,” Simon agreed. “I am sorry, my dear. Please do not eat in that manner.”

“That is still wrong,” Danny told him. “Derek, eat however you like.”

“I’m done eating now,” Derek said. “Can we go back to the room?” He wanted another bath since the first one had been so nice. Warm and fresh-smelling. He hoped it would help with his aching stomach as well.

“Actually, we should get you back to council chambers for the ceremony. There will be a dinner afterward.”

The thought of more food made Derek’s gut clench. “Do I have to eat?” he asked.

Danny and Simon exchanged a quick look. “I suppose not,” Danny said. “Now, about your suit.”

“White and nothing else,” Simon said.

“Black or dark charcoal,” Danny countered.

“Another bath?” Derek asked. “And then, maybe dark blue like the shirt?”

He liked the color and the material was soft. With little material in the compound, there had been no reason for Master Kate to dress him, and he had often gone naked or dressed in an improvised loin cloth.

Master Kate had liked the convenience of it, able to flick it aside with a stray hand and then take what she wanted from him, whether it was pain or pleasure. Sometimes both.

In fact, he had been naked when General Stilinski had killed Master Kate. It was only later, in the holding cage with his family that he had been draped in a blanket and then dressed roughly in canvas clothing by the women who had scrubbed him with unscented blocks of soap.

The soap in the bath, although unscented, was pleasant and didn’t make Derek’s skin ache with the chemicals used to make it. If he could have, he would have stayed here forever, twisting the faucet and adding more heat to the water. As it was, Danny hurried him through it, brushing his hair with quick strokes that left his scalp tingling.

Afterward Derek stood still, dressed again in the shirt and pants.

Simon snapped his fingers, and the gloves reappeared on Derek’s hands. Danny scoffed, muttering, “Show-off,” under his breath before he smoothed his hands down Derek’s shoulders, his back and chest, and his arms. When he pulled away, the shirt was now a suit. Simon snapped his fingers again and pants encased Derek’s legs. Danny spit in his palm and polished his feet until shiny black shoes popped into existence.

Through it all, Derek did not move. There may not have been pins, needles, and scissors, but magic gone wrong was just as painful as being jabbed.

Finally, though, they were finished with him.

Simon departed with a slight bow and a sincere thank you.

Danny sat next to Derek and held his hand. “Do you want me to walk with you?” he asked. “It’s traditional for the bride to be walked down the aisle by her father.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why wasn’t I taken with my family? Why am I still here and not with them?”

Danny sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Who is General Stilinski?”

Danny sighed again. “He’s a war hero. He’s the one who—”

“—killed Master Kate,” Derek interrupted. “He wouldn’t leave me there. And now he wants to marry me. Why?”

“I’m not privy to that information right now,” Danny said. His scent was heavy with sadness and something bitter like anger. “Stiles and I went to high school together. Then, my druid powers were awakened and I spent a year in a mental health facility while my parents tried to convince the Association of Hunters that I was still a normal human.” Danny shuddered. “It didn’t end well. My best friend, Jackson, was attacked by an alpha trying to escape the hunters. He turned into what’s known as a kanima and was put down before he could hurt anyone.” Quietly, Danny said, “Stiles was the one who pulled the trigger. And now he’s some war hero whose misdeeds are swept away. He won’t face any consequences for marrying an underage individual.”

“He promised not to touch me,” Derek remembered. “Do you think he meant it?”

“I can’t say for sure. I want to believe that there is still something good in Stiles Stilinski, but according to my papers, he is the one who contacted the hunters about my abilities.”

Derek twisted his hand in Danny’s. “Maybe he has changed?”

Danny barked a laugh. “No. I think he hasn’t. He’s going to be worshipped like a god, and nothing he ever will do will be bad enough to stop him again. He killed my friend, he turned me in, and he’s marrying you. The Stiles Stilinski I knew really and truly is gone.”

A knock at the door kept Derek from asking if the Stiles Danny knew ever existed. “Come in,” Danny called.

The wyvern poked her head into the room. “There you are,” she cooed at Derek. “Come along, little one. We’ve got lots to do before the wedding in a few hours. Oh dear, that’s not what he’s wearing, is it?”

“It is,” Danny said. He stared her down until she deflated.

“Fine. It’s very nice. Did Simon help?”

“Yes,” Derek said. “Can I have something to soothe my stomach, please?”

Danny left the room, and the wyvern took his seat.

“Tell me honestly,” she said, “how nervous are you?”

Nervous? Derek would not use the word nervous to describe how he felt. Anxious, nauseated, close to puking up all those grapes. “Very,” he said instead, grateful when Danny reappeared and handed him a cup of what smelled like ginger.

“It’s tea,” Danny said. “It should help settle your stomach. Now, Agatha, if you don’t mind, I still have to get him ready.”

“It was entrusted to me,” the wyvern said, snapping her elongated jaw shut when Danny glared at her. “He was,” she muttered.

“Agatha, you have the fashion sense of a blind yak. You see fit to serve worms and serpents as food at large gatherings. Just because you are the head of the ceremonies department, it doesn’t mean that you should be in charge of ceremonies. Especially when humans are involved.”

“I just think that the boy should have someone he trusts with him,” Agatha argued.

“He does,” Danny assured her, squeezing Derek’s shoulder. “I promise. Now, will you go make sure the council is ready to officiate the ceremony?”

Derek clutched at his roiling stomach, rubbing at it to help soothe it. Danny lifted the cup of ginger tea. The first sip was disgusting, but a warmth spread from it, and Derek held it tightly, sipping carefully as his stomach did settle, as Danny had said it would.

Danny offered his arm when the cup was empty and discarded. “Ready?”

Derek didn’t answer because the only answer was “No,” and that wasn’t an option.

~ * ~

The doors opened before they reached them, and Derek shrank as the stench of perfumed sweat assaulted his nose once more.

Danny’s hand on his tightened, but it offered little comfort when all the eyes of the people inside fixated on them.

“Step up,” Danny instructed in a low murmur, and Derek obediently lifted his feet, one at a time.

At the front of the room, General Stilinski stood, a man with a pair crutches and a crooked jaw to his left, another man, heavily lined face and white robes covered with a purple drape, on his right. Both the general and the other man were dressed in dark blue suits like Derek.

As soon as the man in robes saw Derek, he turned to look disapprovingly at General Stilinski.

For this, Danny appeared pleased.

Derek stood on tiptoes, to lessen the height between the general and himself. Danny stayed by his side even after letting the general take Derek’s hand.

“Dear congregation,” the man in robes said, “we are gathered here today to join these two people in holy matrimony. If any objections are had, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Almost immediately, a cacophony of voices clambered over each other. Insults and objections, and a few calls of “whore” wormed their way into Derek’s ears. He clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

A hand dropped onto his shoulder, and Derek peeked up at General Stilinski.

“May I say something, Father?”

The man in robes nodded.

General Stilinski turned to the gathered audience. He cleared his throat. “I know there are a few of you who object to this union based on the fact that our ages are so far apart. To those of you, nothing I say will change your mind. The others here who would rather be standing in my place, I say to you, leave now and there will be no consequences. I am marrying this boy, this victim, this werewolf, to save him from people like you, because unlike you, I have no intention of hurting him further.”

No one moved.

Derek wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

On the one hand, there were definitely some people in the crowd (mostly the supernaturals) who did not approve of the fact that the general was marrying a child. On the other, there were people in the crowd who did not like union either because it wasn’t them standing there or because he was a werewolf.

“If everyone is done,” the man in robes said, “let us proceed.”

Derek couldn’t pay attention to the words, still listening to a few grumbles of the audience.

Particularly vocal were the wyvern and the goblin.

Agatha was arguing that she should be the one marrying the general instead of Derek while Simon did not think anyone should be getting married.

“Least of all by his own father,” Simon said lowly.

“Do you, Mieczyslaw, take Derek to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and hold and love for all time, in sickness and in health?”

“I do,” General Stilinski said.

“Do you, Derek, take Mieczyslaw to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and hold and love for all time, in sickness and in health?”

Danny nudged Derek and he mumbled, “I do.”

“Scott, the rings,” the man in robes said.

The other man leaned on his crutch and dug through a pocket in his jacket until he found a small wooden box that he passed to General Stilinski.

Inside the box were two identical rings, gold and devoid of any jewels. Derek took the larger one when General Stilinski offered it to him.

“I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may exchange rings.”

General Stilinski grabbed Derek’s left hand, sliding the ring onto Derek’s second to last finger.

Derek returned the favor.

No one celebrated.

~ * ~

Of course, the humans were served first. Derek watched with little anticipation. His stomach was still unsettled despite the ginger tea. His new husband, General Stilinski, glared, his scent bitter and sour with anger and resentment as more humans were served before any of the supernaturals in attendance. Even Alpha Satomi was served after.

She was served before Derek though, which made the general’s anger spike severely.

“This is unfair and crude,” his husband said to the human male, Scott, on his other side.

Scott paused, his fork in his left hand while he tried to grip the knife with his curled right hand.

“This is not the time, Stiles,” he said. He set the silverware down and turned to General Stilinski. “I know how you are, but I’m repeating: this is not the time. We are not in the army anymore. They specifically promoted us to generals to force us to retire. Besides, won’t you have your hands full with your new husband and the tour?”

“Now is always the time to champion the rights of the oppressed,” General Stilinski countered, stabbing at his meat. He sighed and set aside his silverware, taking Scott’s plate and slicing the meat into bite-sized pieces. “Do you know why I took him as my bridegroom?”

Scott shrugged, carefully stabbing and lifting a piece of meat to his mouth.

“It was because of what the unit was saying.”

Derek looked away. He knew what the unit had said. In fact, one of the men had grabbed him before he’d been summoned to the council. Derek could still feel the man’s hand closing around his penis. It had only been the courier’s appearance that saved him this time.

“They said that the Argent whore was free for the taking. He’s a child, Scott. I couldn’t abandon him to that.”

“Little mice have big ears,” someone barked into Derek’s ear, and he jumped, rattling his plate and spilling his glass. General Stilinski swore, throwing his napkin down on the mess and mopping at it.

“What the hell, Coach?” he grumbled. Derek slunk low in his seat, heat burning in his cheeks, stomach flipping unpleasantly, aware that the whole room was staring at him.

“What, I can’t offer my congratulations on your nuptials?”

“You can, but Jesus, don’t scare the crap out of my husband.”

“Husband?” the man with wild hair and wilder eyes said, eyeing Derek with a growing look of revulsion.

Of course he was mad that his precious general had been married off to the Argent whore. Derek was mad too. He would have rather gone with his family wherever they were now. He hadn’t been allowed that information yet, and he doubted he would.

If the food-staff hadn’t been willing to acknowledge supernaturals at a wedding featuring a supernatural, then he wasn’t waiting for information to be given to him.

“Hey,” General Stilinski said. “I had to marry him.”

“Or what?” Coach said, disgust barely concealed in his voice. Derek could smell it simmering on him. “Did you even ask the boy what he wanted instead of deciding for him?”

General Stilinski stopped breathing for a few seconds before saying, quietly, “No.”

“Of course not,” Coach said. “That’s your problem, Stilinski, always has been always will be. You don’t think of others before you do something. Made you a great asset during the war, but you’ll be a shit husband if you think you can get away with doing that to your spouse. Not to mention that it should be illegal.”

“He still doesn’t have any rights under the current government,” General Stilinski protested. “He would have gone to the highest bidder.”

“Like his family?” Scott said knowingly. Derek turned to glare at him. His family wasn’t free? They were still enslaved by humans?

“His family is downstate, on a farm I bought with my commission,” General Stilinski said. “They’re as free as they are going to get.”

“So why didn’t you send the boy with them?” Coach asked.

Derek peeked at General Stilinski. Why indeed.

The general flushed, dabbing at the still-wet mess. “One of the men, Haigh, I think it was. He had a strain of wolfsbane on his person. I reported him and was told to mind my own business. So, I made Derek my business. I saved this boy once. I’ll be damned if he dies on my watch.”

“Admirable,” Coach said in a voice that said he thought it was anything but. “Listen, Stilinski, I can’t stop this sham from happening—it’s too late for that—but I’ll be damned if you add to this child’s misery.” He leaned close to General Stilinski. “If I hear one rumor about you mistreating your husband, I’ll come smack you so hard your head pops off.”

At his words, Derek saw Master Kate’s head hitting the floor of the throne room again, and no amount of ginger tea stopped him from vomiting onto his plate.

Coach slapped the general.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not be cross-posting this to [my Tumblr](http://1989dreamer.tumblr.com/); however, updates about this story can be found there.
> 
> If you think I missed a tag, please let me know. I'm trying to tag as I edit, but I may think I've mentioned something and it could be that I didn't.
> 
> If anyone wants to be a beta for this story, that would be welcome. You can contact me at [my ask](http://1989dreamer.tumblr.com/ask).


	5. Two

~ * ~

The ice-pack was mostly melted by the time Scott came to check on Stiles.

“How is he?” Stiles asked. Scott grunted but did not answer. Stiles tried to make eye contact, but Scott refused, busying himself with straightening the various bottles on the side table. Stiles wasn’t sure whose room this was, but he was glad for the proximity to the council’s chambers. His father had just left a few moments ago, promising that even if he was disappointed in Stiles, he still loved him.

This was the first time in an hour that Scott had been near Stiles, and he grabbed his wrist.

“Please,” he begged. “Please.”

Scott sighed. “He’s fine. Still a little sick. Danny overfed him before the ceremony.”

“But why didn’t he look sick or throw up before then? Why only when Coach was talking to me?”

“PTSD,” Scott said. “I read the reports. You killed Kate Argent by decapitation. Coach threatened to take your head off.”

Stiles touched his cheek, probing at the bruise his former sergeant, Bobby Finstock, had left when he hit him.

“As much as this sucks, I’m glad Derek had someone else in that room with his best interests at heart.”

“Yeah, well, you’re sure not winning second place at that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Stiles, you just married a thirteen year old boy! Only you heard those soldiers. No one else can confirm your reason for keeping _this child_ from his family.”

Stiles didn’t say anything. He had said what he could. If no one believed him, then that was not his problem.

“Seriously, if you were trying to be the good guy, you could have just escorted him home and been his guard. Why did you have to marry him?”

“I thought it was the only option,” Stiles mumbled.

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “The council had already summoned me. I knew they were looking for volunteers to marry. Human and supernatural couples.”

“Doesn’t Derek have an uncle? Couldn’t you have married him instead?”

“He does, but he wasn’t the one in danger of being raped again. And anyway, why, if everyone is so against this marriage, didn’t anyone—the council, the staff here, you—stop it? Why were you all so content to spew your disgust behind my back but let the ceremony go forward?”

“Because, I thought you’d come to your senses,” Scott said. He dropped onto the chair next to the bed. “I don’t know why I didn’t talk to you before. I guess it was because I hadn’t seen you in months. Not since I had to be medically discharged.” Scott stared at his damaged hand, clenching it as tight as he could.

Stiles reached out, laying his hand on top of Scott’s. “I wanted to visit you, but I was on assignment.”

“I know.” Scott shrugged. “I saw the report.”

“How?”

“There are perks of being the son of the first general killed in action. And of being badly injured. People are willing to look the other way. I followed your career after we were separated. You’re a top-level assassin. Why didn’t you just kill the people who were talking about raping a child?”

“That’s a lot of deaths. Some of them civilians. There’s a reason you and I were decommissioned so soon after the last stronghold was destroyed.”

“California doesn’t want to know what we did to win the war; they just want to celebrate the victories.”

“And I guess that means giving us what we ask for. Even if it’s marrying an underage boy,” Stiles realized. “Maybe everyone else thought they couldn’t say no to me.”

Stiles slammed the icepack onto the table, startling Scott. Stiles gave him as much of an apologetic smile as he could before he threw open the door and stepped outside the room. Scott scrambled to catch up to him, limping heavily even with his crutches.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Getting an annulment. Derek deserves it.”

~ * ~

“No,” Alpha Satomi said.

She stared down at them, a flat expression on her face.

“You explained yourself quite eloquently earlier, General,” Elder Deaton said. “The council sees no reason to grant you an annulment, especially because your husband is not here making the same request.”

“He’s an underage child,” Scott said. “He can’t consent to marriage in the first place.”

“We performed an evaluation,” Alpha Satomi stated. “He was found competent and in charge of his faculties. He did not object at all to being married.”

“The fact that he’s thirteen means nothing?” Scott snapped. “He’s a child! He needs his parents’ permission!”

“He would,” Elder Deaton said, “except for the fact that he’s a werewolf. Biologically, they reach puberty at ten years of age.”

“That’s impossible,” Stiles snapped. “He still looks and acts like a child. There is no way he is ready for what a real marriage would entail.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that you hadn’t planned on having a ‘real’ marriage, isn’t it?” Stiles wanted to smash Elder Deaton’s face in. The man was smug and smarmy, his half-smile nothing but a challenge, an insult, to Stiles.

“I meant,” he said, seething, “that I would not consummate the marriage. There will be no sex.”

“Admirable, General,” Alpha Satomi broke in, “but if you will not lay with your husband, your marriage will suffer. Werewolves are tactile in nature. The boy will require contact and assurances. If you do not provide them, we will find you in contempt.”

“And?”

“You and your husband will be enrolled in our facilities.”

Scott nudged Stiles. “I think they mean Eichen House. It’s being renovated from a criminal lock up into a mental health facility.”

“That is correct, General McCall.” Elder Deaton tapped his pen against the table. “Should General Stilinski and his husband be required to be committed to Eichen House, their marriage will not be annulled. However, should the enforced relationship not meet the standards for caring, both parties will be kept at Eichen House until either a resolution is reached or one of the coupling passes away.”

“It is in your best interest to lay with your husband, General,” Alpha Satomi said. “And that may include fornication of some nature. The council wishes you well with your marriage.”

The dismissal was obvious, but Scott still dragged Stiles by his arm from the room.

Outside, they matched steps heading for the little chamber where Derek had been prepped for the ceremony.

“I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?” Stiles asked Scott once he was certain there was enough distance that the supernaturals on the council couldn’t listen in.

“Well,” Scott hedged. Stiles hit his good shoulder. Scott sighed. “Yes. You majorly fucked this up. You’ve trapped a boy in a marriage where his emotional needs can’t be met and where the punishment of you not becoming a rapist is being committed to a mental institution.”

Stiles shuddered. During the time before the war, Eichen House was used to torture supernatural sympathizers. A girl from his high school had died there. He swore he wouldn’t let Derek be trapped there, not like Heather. She had had to have a closed casket, the injuries sustained so severe that she’d been identified via a DNA test.

“Scott,” Stiles said. “I have that tour coming up.”

“Yes?”

“I’m not dragging a thirteen year old boy all over the new country of California.”

“But you heard the council; you can’t leave him by himself or they’ll throw the both of you into Eichen.”

“I know. That’s why you’re going to look after him for me while I travel.”

“What?” Scott stopped moving and stared at Stiles.

“Yeah. I know those ‘general’ titles came with land. And I know you, you picked a parcel just outside of Beacon Hills. So did I.”

“So?”

“So, you’re going to be able to check on Derek and make sure that, one, his emotional needs for contact are met—although, if you even try fucking him, I’ll kill you—”

“Same.”

“And two, that none of those soldiers come looking for him. Look, I’ll pay you.”

“Stiles, I still have rehabilitation. I can’t care for a child on top of myself.”

“What about your mom? Doesn’t she still live in Beacon Hills?”

Scott blinked, tears in his eyes. “My mom was one of the last ones taken to Eichen House,” he said softly. “They don’t know where she is.”

“Shit, no,” Stiles breathed. Melissa McCall was the woman who had raised him. Stiles’ father had gone to the sanctuary after Stiles’ mother’s death, leaving Stiles with Melissa and Scott. In many ways, that’s what led to them signing up for the Rebel Alliance, not the least of which was because it was founded by Stiles’ father.

Melissa must have been taken just a few weeks before the firefight that nearly killed Scott. Stiles had visited her before he’d been sent out on an assignment.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

Scott shrugged. “I’ve been hoping that she made it out. She’s smart, resourceful. She knew how to survive. But, the longer I look, the less evidence I find of her.”

“What if it’s like with Heather, and she was buried in an unmarked box?”

“They didn’t send out the last bodies in boxes,” Scott said softly. “When the hunters knew they’d lost, they started killing all their prisoners. They burned the bodies at Eichen.”

That…Stiles could not comprehend that. Melissa, killed, gone, dead.

“Does my dad know?” he asked.

Scott nodded. “He’s got the artifacts at his church and he has his monks and nuns going through them right now. So far, he’s been able to identify most of the jewelry that came off the bodies. All of it from people from Beacon Hills.”

“Nothing from your mom though?”

“No.”

Stiles frowned. “She had a watch, right?”

“And a small silver cross.”

“The temperature needed to obliterate the bodies would definitely have been high enough to melt any metals. Why is my dad finding intact jewelry?”

“I don’t know. At what temperature do bodies burn? What’s the melting point of gold or silver?”

“I’ll look into that later. Right now, I need an answer. Will you look after Derek while I do the tour? Please?”

Scott sighed and shook his head, but Stiles could see his resolve was gone.

“I’ll find your mom too,” Stiles promised. It was the least he could do since Scott would make sure Derek was okay while he was gone.

“Shake on it,” Scott said. What he meant was hack a wad of spit into their palms and mash them together while stating their promises again.

The ritual had been their staple since third grade, and nothing had changed. They still kept every promise ever made that they shook on. This time would be no exception.

Scott shoved the chamber door open, and Stiles paused at the sight of Derek sitting on a cot, Danny and a wyvern-shifter sitting with him.

Across the room, a goblin was performing magical exercises.

All of them except Derek glared at Stiles.

“Are you finally seeing the error of your ways, General?” Danny said.

“I tried to get an annulment,” Stiles said, but it sounded weak to his ears. Derek must have agreed because he shook his head. It was then that Stiles realized the boy was crying.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked, crutching into the room. Only the wyvern dropped her gaze.

“My stomach still hurts,” Derek said, sniffling. His hands were clenched in his lap, and Stiles thought he saw the hint of claws sprouting from his fingertips. It was no doubt a lie, but no one called Derek on it.

“Would you like some more ginger tea?” Danny asked.

“If we’re to seek an annulment,” Stiles spoke over him, “the council requires both of us to put in the request. Can I have you come with me, Derek? We will put in the request again and see what they say then.”

“That’s worth a try,” Scott said. “They did mention that both of you needed to seek the annulment. They also mentioned that should Stiles fail in providing adequate care for you, you could both be committed to the reformed Eichen House.”

The wyvern gasped in shock while both Danny and the goblin threw fireballs at the wall.

Stiles stared at the marks, impressed. Danny was magic, then. He always knew there was a reason his classmate had been withdrawn from school. He’d thought it was related to his best friend’s passing.

“They can’t do that!” Danny said vehemently. “Eichen House should not be allowed to exist.”

“Certainly not as an institute for supernaturals,” the goblin added.

“It’s like a last resort kind of thing,” Stiles assured them. “I…I really want you to come with me now, Derek, to see if we can get the annulment without having to facilitate an actual marriage. I promised that I wouldn’t hurt you like that and I meant it.”

Derek nodded and followed him back to the council’s chamber.

~ * ~

“No,” Elder Deaton said, almost angrily. “Our decision is final.” The other council members nodded in agreement. “You cannot have come before us to request us to allow this marriage only to want to have it annulled the same day.”

“You may not see it now,” Alpha Satomi said, “but you and Derek Hale are destined for each other.”

“That is such a load of bullshit,” Stiles said. “You just don’t want to admit that you rushed your judgment.”

“General Stilinski,” another of the council members, a thin man with scars all over his hairless, gray body, leaned forward and fixed Stiles with a severe glare, “you mistake our generosity as hastiness. We do not care for your false title, a triviality offered to you to make your dismissal less unsavory. This mating between yourself and your werewolf is a gift. One that, if you continue to reject, will be taken from you. Do not harm this boy more than you already have.”

“If I’m harming him, why did you agree to approve the marriage?” Stiles asked.

“One more dissent,” the scarred council member said.

Stiles held up his hands and backed away. Inwardly, he was fuming, too furious to see clearly, and he nearly walked into the doors before Derek hurried forward and opened them for him.

Once they were back in the chamber, Stiles started pacing, hands fisted in his hair. Derek settled back between the wyvern and Danny. Someone had magicked a chair for Scott, and he was rubbing at his damaged leg.

“If you were a werewolf, you could heal,” Derek said, quietly.

“What?” Stiles demanded, turning to face his husband. “What did you just say? A werewolf? You want Scott to become like you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Derek asked. “If I’m hurt, I heal quickly. I can be faster and stronger than humans.”

“Thank you,” Scott said, loudly, to stall the argument he likely knew Stiles was preparing. They grew up together. Scott knew his thoughts on making humans “better” by turning them into supernaturals. “I am fine as I am. I can manage with the pain. I will let you know if I ever change my mind.”

A knock on the door interrupted Stiles before he could start yelling again.

“Hello, hello,” his father said, opening the door and stepping inside. “Danny, how are you? Do you and Simon need a ceremony of your own yet?”

“No offense, Father Stilinski, but after today, I don’t think I want you anywhere near my wedding.”

“None taken,” Dad said. “To be quite honest, I actually wish I had refused to perform the ceremony. How are you, son?” Dad reached out a hand to Derek.

“I’m fine,” Derek said, but it sounded like a lie. His voice was tight, controlled. Something had upset him.

Stiles thought back over the past hour of interaction and realized that although he had tried stepping back and letting Derek have autonomy, he was still directing him, making him do things like go before the council to ask for an annulment. He hadn’t even asked Derek if he wanted to dissolve their marriage.

And then he had started yelling at him for daring to ask if Scott, whose quality of life had decreased drastically, wanted to be restored.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. He pivoted, marched to the nearest wall, and slammed his head against it. The pain was relieving, a pressure he hadn’t been aware of melting away. If one hit was that relaxing, what would two do? Three?

Stiles pulled back and moved forward again.

His head did not impact, and he turned. Derek stood there, stretched on tiptoes to keep his hand between Stiles’ forehead and the wall.

“Don’t,” Derek said. “Please?”

Stiles let him lead him to the cot.

“Son,” Dad said, kneeling down with a quiet grunt. Stiles forgot that his father was getting old. Guess that was what happened when he didn’t spend much time with him anymore. “Why would you hurt yourself like that?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. “I needed it though.”

“But why?”

“Maybe for the same reason Derek threw up earlier,” Scott said, a knowing look on his face.

“PTSD?” Stiles scoffed. “I don’t have that.”

“Do you sleep through the night?” Scott asked. “Do you wake up in a cold sweat because of the things you’ve seen, the things you’ve done? Do you lose time because you get lost in your head?”

Stiles nodded.

“PTSD,” Scott declared. “You should get an actual diagnosis. Maybe they can prescribe something to help with the symptoms.”

“I don’t have PTSD,” Stiles insisted. “Why would I? I’m a sociopath, remember?”

Now it was Scott’s turn to scoff. “Just because of that damn quack that tried to get half the class approved for duty.”

The hunter’s draft. Stiles remembered it less than fondly.

The hunter’s doctor, a man of indeterminate height, with a square head, a perpetual five-o-clock shadow, and a bandana that covered half of his forehead and all of his hair, had marked half of the class ready for the draft while he rooted out the supernaturals that Beacon Hills had managed to hide for two generations.

In the interest of saving the town, and having been saddled with the label of sociopath, it made Stiles the obvious choice to pull the strings.

Buried deep inside an imaginary box inside his head, he kept whatever emotions were strong enough to interfere with his duties. It was the only way to get through his life.

He regretted every day that he led Scott to the Rebel Alliance. The things they’d had to do were not better than what the hunter army would have made them do; those things were just presented as being more morally good.

Scott was injured because of Stiles. Derek was married to him. Stiles couldn’t touch anything without it turning to shit.

Hell, his father had known that from the beginning. Why else would he have left his only child with another family while he attended secular school?

The pressure began building again. Derek moved to his side and settled onto his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing his nose against the hollow of Stiles’ throat.

The position was intimate, but Stiles felt anything but. It was comforting to have Derek’s weight, slight as it was, anchoring on his legs. The boy smelled fresh, clean of anything but his deep-rooted scent, almost yeasty in nature, like fresh bread baking. Derek’s nose was cool even as he breathed warmth over Stiles’ skin.

The pressure crested, dissipating quickly as Derek rubbed his hands over Stiles’ head, digging his fingers into his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered, clinging to Derek tightly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Maybe you should go get a diagnosis,” Dad said. “It can only help, right?” He patted at Stiles’ back. “For what it’s worth, I am proud of you, even if I don’t always agree with your choices.”

“Like my marriage?” Stiles said sardonically. “Don’t worry, Dad, I hate myself too.”

“And that’s part of why you need to be diagnosed,” Scott said. “That attitude is not helping you.”

“Yeah, well.” Stiles tapped at Derek’s arms until he let go and climbed off. Then, Stiles stood again and started pacing. “I’ll go to the doctor, I promise. But, I have to leave first thing in the morning. I’m supposed to go on a speaking tour of the colleges.”

“Where do you start? Southern or Northern?” Scott asked.

“Northern.”

“Then Derek and I can ride with you.” Scott looked at Derek, but Derek was studying his shoes, flicking at peels of leather as they came undid, and didn’t look up. “We have to go north to Beacon Hills anyway.”

“You’re not staying here for a bit?” Dad asked.

“No,” Stiles said. He tried not to take it personally that Danny muttered, “Good riddance,” under his breath at that revelation. He reminded himself that Danny had a misguidedly valid reason to dislike him. Hell, some days, Stiles hated himself and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was a killing machine.

“I have to start the tour day after tomorrow. Traveling takes up all of tomorrow.” He cut a quick glance at Derek, but the boy was still flaking off his shoes and didn’t appear inclined to check in anytime soon. Stiles sighed. “The company will be more than welcome.”

“Pleasure to travel with you,” Scott said, graciously, Stiles thought.

“Food?” Derek asked quietly.

“Seriously?” Danny said. “Derek, you just threw up. Why would we feed you again?”

Derek shrugged. “I’m hungry again,” he said, still soft. “I’m sorry I wasted the food you gave me earlier.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t wasted,” Danny said, panicked. “Not at all. Look, Simon and I will get you something. Do you want another sandwich? Some more cake? Grapes?”

Derek made a face at the mention of one of California’s staples, and Stiles couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of him.

“Sorry,” he apologized unconvincingly.

“Whatever,” Danny said, coolly dismissing Stiles by turning his back. “So, Derek, what did you want to eat?”

Derek looked thoughtful. “Fat soup?” he asked.

“What is fat soup?”

“It’s water with the drippings off a side of beef,” Derek explained. “Sometimes, if we were lucky, we got carrots with it.”

Stiles eyed Derek’s thin physique. “How often did you get this…fat soup?”

“Maybe once a month? We got porridge once a day, so to have the fat soup was a treat. Usually we had it when the guards needed us to look lively. The fat made our hair look healthy and added color to our cheeks.”

Derek smiled, a private affair that felt as intruding to see as if he’d been naked. The joy faded quickly, and he stared morosely at his bare toes. “I didn’t get fat soup after Master Kate took me.” So quiet that Stiles had to strain to hear, he added, “She barely fed me at all.”

“On that note,” Dad said. “I’m going to take Derek to the kitchen where we can feed him something that doesn’t sound as horrific as fat soup nor as unappealing as porridge.”

Stiles glanced around at the faces and turned to his father. “Much as I’d like to accompany you, I do believe that I have to pack my suitcase for the trip tomorrow.” He tried to catch Derek’s eye, but the boy refused to look up, and Stiles gave up rather easily. He could always try to connect on the train anyway. “I’ll meet you at the station.”

He pretended not to hear Danny’s voice piping up before the door even shut behind him. Danny never had anything nice to say to him or about him. Stiles was used to it.

It didn’t make it hurt any less though.

~ * ~

The day dawned dull and foggy. The sun would burn it off in a few hours, but until then, Stiles felt free as he walked from his hotel to the train station.

He loved mornings like this where he could walk about without being immediately recognized.

He was able to purchase his ticket with minimal widening of the clerk’s eyes.

He was already walking away when he heard her call over her supervisor. It made him smile.

As he made his way to the edge of the platform, he saw Scott leaning on his crutches while Derek rocked from side to side next to him. They hadn’t noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to observe them.

Derek’s hair had been brushed back from his face, and the natural spikes didn’t help him look anything but like a kid. He was wearing Scott’s army jacket, and he was dwarfed in it; his hands didn’t even poke out from the cuffs.

Scott’s face was twisted in pain, and he gasped slightly when Derek accidentally knocked into him.

Derek shoved the sleeve up his arm and slapped his hand onto Scott’s, squeezing gently.

Stiles stepped forward, an objection on his lips until he noticed that Scott’s face was slackening, relief evident in his eyes.

“What’s that do?” Stiles asked out of the side of his mouth. Derek barely blinked, turning his wrist to show Stiles the way his veins stood out, black against his skin.

“Werewolves can take pain from people and animals.”

“It’s amazing,” Scott said, his words slurred. “For the first time in a long time, I was able to sleep the night through.”

Stiles nodded although he didn’t really understand. He did know that it was nice for Scott to actually not be in pain. Maybe it would be that way for him if he was changed into a werewolf.

As much as Stiles didn’t agree with altering one’s nature, he couldn’t disagree with the fact that Scott deserved better. And if he had to become a werewolf to do it, then that was his decision to make and Stiles shouldn’t stand in his way.

Derek suddenly drew back from Scott and clapped his hands over his ears. He whimpered, eyes closed tight. Sharp teeth caught on his lip and shredded it.

“Hey,” Stiles said, leaning close to him. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a strange sound coming,” Derek whispered. “It sounds wrong. Like screams or death. It hurts my ears.”

“It’s the train,” Scott realized. “He’s hearing the whistle.”

“That’s impossible. The train isn’t going to arrive for another half an hour. We have time for coffee and a bagel.”

“What is a bagel?” Derek asked before he yelped and pressed his hands tighter over his ears.

“Let’s move inside. If it really is a half an hour away, we’ll be able to hear it soon, and it’s probably only going to get worse for Derek. We should look at getting him some noise canceling headgear.”

“If you think it will help.”

Scott nodded, crutching toward the cafe next to the ticket office. Stiles grabbed Derek’s elbow and steered him after him.

“What is a bagel? Do you eat it? Will it have grapes?” Derek fired rapidly at him. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Yes, bagels are only for eating. No, they don’t usually come with grapes. How do you not know what a bagel is?”

Scott whirled around as fast as his crutches let him and smacked Stiles.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“You know he has no idea about a lot of things that you and I have experienced because we’re human and he isn’t. Stop being such a specist asshole.”

“I’m not,” Stiles said, but it was drowned out by the first clear whistle from the train. Derek whimpered, only it sounded more like a howl trapped in his throat.

“Oh my goodness!” the ticket clerk cried, hurrying toward them. “Oh my sweet child, here.” She shoved a hat at Derek. “It’s charmed to block out sounds that are harmful to sensitive ears. I made it myself.”

Derek accepted it, pulling it on. He smiled at the clerk, and Stiles felt an irrational tug of jealousy deep in his gut. Why, he couldn’t say, only that it upset him enough that he couldn’t even appreciate the sight of Derek stuffing bagels into his mouth, cream cheese and jam smeared all over his face.

Scott ate his bagel sedately, chewing each bite thoroughly before swallowing it. It was as obnoxious as the ticket clerk who checked on them all fifteen minutes of her break and gave Derek a glass of milk to wash down the peanut butter and marshmallow fluff bagel she convinced him to try.

“We should really get going now,” Stiles reminded them a few minutes later, passing a stack of napkins to Derek and watching with mild amusement and disgust as the boy wiped at his hands and face, succeeding only in smearing everything even more.

“Go wash up,” Stiles said. Derek quickly scampered off, and Scott glared at Stiles.

“Might I remind you,” he said, “that you were the one who said it would be nice to have company.”

“That was before I realized that my company was afraid of our mode of transportation.”

“And what exactly did you expect? You know the hunters soundproofed their compounds to keep those with enhanced hearing, like Derek and his family, from getting any clues about what life outside the compound was like. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you trying to set the nice clerk on fire with your eyes. So she’s helping a fellow supernatural. Right now, it just looks like you’re being specist.”

“I’m not,” Stiles protested. “I just, I’m sorry. I’m not used to feeling jealous.”

Scott paused in standing up. He stared at Stiles in horror. “What?” he said. “Jealous? As in—”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Trust me, I’m not pleased with this development either.”

“But you promised,” Scott said. “You…You were supposed to be better than that.”

“I am. I mean, I haven’t done anything, and I’m not going to! I wouldn’t hurt him like that.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Scott demanded. “Stiles, you killed people for a living!”

“So did you! It’s called being in the army!”

“Not the same thing.” Scott pushed himself up. “I’m going to get Derek now, and we’re going to find our seats. Don’t come near us.”

He stalked off, clacking away on his crutches. Stiles sighed and thumped his head onto the table. This day could not get any worse.

~ * ~


	6. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Derek recalls abuses suffered at the hands of Kate.
> 
> More specific chapter warnings in end notes.
> 
> If you think I'm missing a tag, please let me know. I am trying my best, but maybe I think I've already covered something and I haven't.

~ * ~

Derek had never seen so much green. He pressed his face against the glass and stared with all his might. He even shifted his eyes to see farther.

Beside him, General McCall groused as he kept moving his leg, trying to find a comfortable position. Derek set his hand on his knee and drew the pain from it. General McCall sighed in relief, patting at his shoulder.

The smell of raisins rose from the seat across from them, and Derek studied General Stilinski’ reflection. He’d smelled like that earlier when the witch had given Derek the hat.

He tried to recall what his mother had said certain emotions smelled like. Happiness was citrus, although Derek didn’t know what citrus smelled like. Anger was burnt almonds, bitter and sharp. Love was lavender. Hate was blue monkshood, sickly with a sweet bite.

Raisins was…disappointment?

General Stilinski was disappointed that Derek was helping General McCall with his pain? He was disappointed that the witch was helping Derek?

No, that didn’t seem right. Disappointment did not match the expression on General Stilinski’s face. It was closer to regret or tempered sadness.

“What,” General McCall demanded, and General Stilinski spluttered a response that was too garbled to understand through the hat. Derek lifted it off his ear, recoiling at the sudden increase in other sounds as well. The wheels on the track shook him with their vibrations, and he clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

“Seriously?” General McCall said. “Just because you are incapable of actually treating him like a person, it doesn’t mean you get to dictate what is appropriate behavior.”

“He’s my husband,” General Stilinski said, sullen.

“Jealousy?” Derek asked. “Raisins mean jealousy?”

“What?” both generals turned to him.

“Raisins?” General McCall asked while General Stilinski crossed his arms and sunk down in his seat, face flushed and scent spiking with the smell of olives. Shame and embarrassment.

General Stilinski was jealous of the hat and the pain-pulling. General Stilinski was jealous of other people paying attention to or touching Derek.

“You promised,” General McCall hissed, and Derek pulled the hat low over his ears. He didn’t want to know what his husband would say. It was his right to take Derek as Master Kate had. No outrage would stop it if he wanted it. No council would stand behind Derek and support him if he chose to deny his husband.

Suddenly, the green outside seemed less hopeful and more like a reminder of things that Derek couldn’t have. They were traveling north to the generals’ home. Derek would know no one and nothing. He would be as isolated as he was in Master Kate’s throne room.

The raisin smell went away, replaced by a bitterness that might have been almonds, but Derek had only smelled real almonds once when Master Kate was taunting his mother in front of him. It was easier to ignore if he pressed his nose against the emotion-drenched seat back, so he did, letting the rocking of the train lull him into a light doze.

A few hours later, General McCall lifted the hat off Derek’s ears. “We’re here,” he said. “We need to disembark now.”

He grunted and groaned as he stood up, shoving his crutches firmly under his arms. General Stilinski hovered next to him, so Derek waited. Neither of them even spared him a glance as they slowly made their way to the doors.

It wouldn’t be so difficult to slip away. If General McCall was in too much pain to remember Derek, and General Stilinski was too busy attending to his friend, then it might be a while before they remembered him.

As soon as they stepped onto the platform, Derek stood up, following the flow of people as they swept toward the exit doors. He managed to get one foot off the train before a beefy hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“A pretty little thing, aren’t you?” a man said, wide, unfocused eyes, breath stinking of the liquid Master Kate liked drinking after a decadent meal. The man used his grip to lift Derek up, fingers digging in painfully.

Derek looked around for General Stilinski or McCall and saw them head into the station building.

Great, now he was alone with no protection.

Well, that was his goal, wasn’t it?

Derek wriggled, swinging his feet and trying to kick the man.

“Feisty too, eh?” he laughed, burping in Derek’s face.

“Put me down,” Derek said. He snapped his teeth together as menacingly as he could, canines long and pointed. The man laughed harder, the motion making Derek shake.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, little whore.” The man swung his arm up, raising Derek higher and then jerked him down quickly. Derek braced, but it still hurt when his feet impacted the ground hard enough to shatter the bones in them.

The passengers from the train stopped, a few of them taking out small squares and aiming them at Derek and the man. Glee, unadulterated and foul, swelled around them. Sometimes Master Kate had wanted a performance before she broke him. These humans were the same. Derek had no plan to disappoint them.

Pain drew away his canines, but Derek fought still, scratching the man, gouging at his eyes. Anger more bitter than any Derek had ever smelled swept over them, and the man let him go, straightening quickly.

“General,” he said, his tone insolent and disobedient.

“Private Ennis,” General Stilinski said coldly. “Mind telling me what you’re trying to do to my husband?”

“He attacked me,” the man said, sullen. “I was just trying to get off the train and he jumped at me, flashing his eyes and snapping his teeth. You know those supes, can’t control themselves when they get a hunger in their blood.”

“Looked to me like you were trying to kidnap him,” General Stilinski said. He fixed the man with a severe look. “Let me catch you lying again, and you’ll be parted from your head.”

“Hear that?” Private Ennis called to the gathered crowd, “the General just threatened me!” He turned back to Derek. “You wanna run to your husband now, whore?”

Derek growled low in his throat, but he knew he couldn’t attack without it seeming unprovoked now. He stood up, limping heavily on mostly healed feet to General Stilinski’ side.

“You want supernaturals out of control?” General Stilinski said. “How about you look in a mirror?”

Private Ennis’ eyes bled red. Alpha.

“How’d you know?” he asked around a mouthful of sharp teeth.

General Stilinski touched Derek’s shoulder, fingers poking painfully into the indentations left from Private Ennis’ grip. “Enhanced strength.”

Private Ennis laughed. “Guess I can’t put one over on you.” He stumbled off into the crowd, and the people parted, letting him pass unhindered.

Derek tugged at General Stilinski’s sleeve. “He was drunk,” he whispered when General Stilinski leaned down. “Werewolves can’t get drunk. Not without help.”

“What kind of help?”

“Wolfsbane, mostly.”

General Stilinski made a face of shock. “Isn’t that poison to you?”

“Yes, in large doses. Smaller doses could be used to make werewolves drunk.”

“What’s your experience with wolfsbane?”

Derek frowned. “Painful?” Derek didn’t know why the general wanted to know that. It wasn’t like a werewolf could have a good experience with aconite. Master Kate had loved to lace his water with it and watch him writhe in agony while his body processed it. Private Ennis hadn’t seemed to be in pain at all, but he was larger than Derek and an alpha.

“How do you know Ennis?”

“Stiles!” General McCall shouted. “Our ride is here.”

General Stilinski grabbed Derek’s hand and dragged him to where General McCall was being helped into a long black vehicle of some kind. Without a word, General Stilinski pushed Derek in after him, and the driver, a tall, thin man with a mop of light brown curls and piercing blue eyes slammed the door after them.

General Stilinski knelt on the seat, leaning into the front part where the driver was flipping switches.

“How are things with you, Isaac?”

“Wonderful as always, General Stilinski,” the driver replied blandly. His scent though, was struck through with cedar and something sharper, almost like urine.

“How are things at home now?”

The urine smell increased and so did Isaac’s heartbeat.

“Stiles,” Scott said sharply, “leave it.”

General Stilinski shot a quick glare at his friend before he settled in his seat.

“You always bug him about his home life and it never improves. Now that I’m home, I’ll do something about it, but you need to leave Isaac alone.” Softer, he added, “You can’t save everyone. You know that.”

“I’m going to look for your mom,” General Stilinski said, “I promise.”

“Don’t let it obsess you,” General McCall said. “If you make me any promises, make that one.”

“We’re here, General McCall,” Isaac said, pulling the vehicle to the side of the road.

“Oh,” General McCall said sadly. “No, I don’t live here anymore.”

“No?” Isaac glanced at the house. “But…?”

“The town foreclosed on it after my mom disappeared. I was stuck in a hospital bed so I couldn’t exactly do something about it.” General McCall pulled a book from his jacket and tore the top leaf to give to Isaac. “That’s the address of the house I bought. Stiles’ is just a few yards away.”

“This is the preserve,” Isaac said. “I thought there were no houses there.”

The generals exchanged a look. “It was a thank you from the town for our service,” General Stilinski explained. “Out of the way so people could forget that murderers were living among them and close enough that we still count as population.”

“For what it’s worth,” Isaac said as he steered the vehicle back onto the main road, “I am glad you fought for the right side. Thank you for your service.”

“That means more coming from you,” General McCall said. “We appreciate it.”

The rest of the drive was silent, and Derek spent it watching buildings, people, and trees pass. Beacon Hills had a lot of those three things.

After fifteen minutes, Isaac pulled up to a long metal fence with a gate. He left the car to pull open the gate, got back in to drive through, got out again to close the gate, and then climbed back in his seat once more.

On either side of the driveway were two identical houses. They looked as large as Master Kate’s guest house, with two levels and a sloped roof. Both houses were white, but one had red trim and the other had blue.

Isaac directed them toward the house with the blue trim.

“General McCall, your house is on the left. General Stilinski, yours in on the right. Do you need any help with your bags?”

Derek was puzzled. The only bags they had were the generals’ suitcases and those were easily carried by either General Stilinski or himself.

“No, thank you,” General McCall said, digging in his pocket again to pull out a couple of crumpled notes. “These are good at any store,” he explained, pressing them into Isaac’s hand. “We appreciate you taking time out of your day to drive us.”

General Stilinski added a few more of the notes. “Thank you.”

Derek patted his pockets but all he had was a sweet Danny had given him before they said goodbye. He added it to the pile in Isaac’s hand. “Thank you,” he said quietly, unsure if he was supposed to do anything else.

Isaac smiled at him. “That’s my favorite. Thank you!” He unwrapped the sweet and stuck it in his cheek. His happiness made Derek feel a little more at ease, and he tripped out of the vehicle after the generals.

Isaac waved at them and drove off.

“What was that?” Derek asked General McCall.

“Hmm?” General McCall was too busy patting at his pockets, pulling out different things like a folded square of leather with more of those paper notes sticking out of it, a few spicy-smelling sweets wrapped, several folded pieces of metal wire with lint caught in the loops. He found a set of keys and shook them triumphantly.

“A limousine,” General Stilinski answered. “It’s just a long car designed to carry more people where they need to go. Isaac drives one as a source of income.”

“Is that why you gave him paper?”

General McCall laughed as he unlocked his door. “Yeah, although, that wasn’t ordinary paper. It was a form of payment. In this case, it was army rations. Anyone can claim them, but only the army can give them out. Stiles and I were both paid in rations instead of with actual funds since there is no gold in California to back it up.”

“What does jewelry have to do with money?” Derek asked. Master Kate liked to wrap gold chains around the base of his penis while she jerked him off, and once he had broken the chain when she was too rough. She’d whipped him for that, striking him until he passed out from the pain.

“Jewelry, at least prior to 1984 was made with varying levels of precious materials, like gold or silver. After the civil war that saw Kentucky overtaken by Tennessee and the Free Republic State of Tennessee established, there was no more gold for the rest of the United Commonwealth of the States, and they had to set up their own payment system.

“Most states adopted a barter system, where goods and services were traded for each other. When California’s army was created, they decided to issue rations as payment instead of using the barter system.”

“It made it easier and better for soldiers, since now they could save their ration slips instead of having to find uses for the things they would have been given instead.”

“Where did the army get its money from if Tennessee has all the money?”

“They bartered,” General Stilinski said. “They bartered peoples’ safety.”

Derek frowned in confusion. “But they didn’t have anything to barter,” he said.

“Exactly,” General Stilinski said. “Now, here’s how they did it: you have a piece of candy.” He took one of General McCall’s sweets and handed it to Derek. “Now, someone, say Scott, comes along and wants your candy. You have two options, fight for it or let him have it. The army decided to present a third option: they would fight your opponent for you and you would give them a portion of whatever they helped you protect.”

He unwrapped the sweet and broke off a corner, handed that piece to General McCall. “Whatever is left after you pay the army is yours to keep.”

“Did the army give people supernaturals as payment?” Derek asked. “Since that was what they were protecting?”

General Stilinski choked on his breath while General McCall shook his head and smiled fondly. “No,” he said. “They took crops to feed the troops and metals to make ammunition and weapons with. They took our rations and supplies out of what they owed us. It still meant that soldiers ended up with more ration papers than they knew what to do with. So, whenever Stiles or I find someone we think is worthy of our rations, we pass them along.”

“Which reminds me.” General Stilinski pulled out his own set of keys and folded square of leather, opening it and pulling out some neatly folded army ration papers. “These are for you. I’ll be stopping in as often as I can to check on you, but I’ll be doing a speaking tour of the colleges in California for the next eight or so months. I have to leave tomorrow, but I’ll be staying with Scott tonight while you get settled in my house” Derek took the keys and the money

“Hey, Stiles, is there a letter on your door too?”

General Stilinski jogged across the path to the other house. “Yep,” he called back after a moment, returning with the opened letter in hand.

“Oh shit,” he said, coming to a stop beside Derek. “They want to make our birthdays holidays. Why? Doesn’t that usually only happen to dead people?”

“Maybe it’s a joke?” General McCall said. “I mean, the town wasn’t pleased with either of us when we left.”

“Why?” Derek asked. He flinched when both of them turned to look at him. “I mean, you were protecting supernaturals. Isn’t that what this town wanted to do?”

“Yeah, but Stiles wasn’t exactly the most popular after Jackson Whittemore’s death and the fact that I refused to stop being friends with him meant that I wasn’t well-liked either.”

“I think it’s because we’re the only ones from Beacon Hills who joined the Rebel Alliance.” General Stilinski crumpled the paper and threw it into the driveway. “As far as I’m concerned, they can all just fuck off.”

He stormed off into the woods, leaving General McCall staring after him awkwardly.

“Jesus, I thought he was over that. He seemed to be getting better.” General McCall used his crutches to spin himself, and he disappeared into his house. Derek shrugged and made his way to General Stilinski’s house. At least he had the keys so he could get in.

The place was empty.

No furniture anywhere.

Derek looked at the bare floor, wondering if that’s where he would sleep. Maybe there was something better upstairs?

He finally found something in a crawlspace above the second floor. It was a heavy trunk filled with books and papers. He carried everything to a corner far away from the tiny window, stacking it neatly and with care before he dragged the trunk downstairs to the smallest, farthest bedroom. Here, he set it under the window and crawled into it, curling up tightly so that his knees were pressed to his chest. He set his cheek on top of them and let the first sob come.

He missed his family even though he’d barely gotten to see them during his time with Master Kate. He could still feel Peter’s lips on his forehead, the last true affection he had felt.

Derek cried himself to sleep.

~ * ~

In the morning, Derek found General McCall sitting on his front porch, with one of those little black boxes, talking to someone. He caught Derek’s eye and held up a finger.

Derek settled onto the step next to him. He could hear General Stilinski inside yelling at something, probably his own little black box.

“Thank you,” General McCall said to his box and dropped it to the floor beside him. “So, that sucks.”

“Understatement,” General Stilinski spit as he marched past them. He sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. Finally, after a few minutes, he dropped his gaze back down, fixing it on Derek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know we told them fully furnished, but they must have ignored the order for my house or maybe thought it was a duplicate for Scott’s. I don’t know what they were thinking when we purchased houses so close together.”

“It appears,” General McCall said, “that the town still doesn’t want us here.”

“What are you talking about? Your house was stocked. Furniture and the pantry. There wasn’t so much as a crumb at my house.”

General McCall’s eyes widened. “Shit, sorry. Come on, Derek, I’ve got some breakfast left for you.” Derek helped him stand up and walk into the house. The setup was the same as General Stilinski’s, with a large space with a staircase leading to the second floor immediately through the door and two other rooms downstairs. There was a large rug down in front of the staircase, and General McCall nudged him when he noticed he was staring at it.

“You can have it, if you like.”

Derek nodded slowly. There must be a catch to it. There was never not one. Marry the General or be sold to the highest bidder. Eat Master Kate out or don’t get any water for the day. Give Master Kate a ten-year-old sex slave or don’t get the medicine needed to save the rest of the family.

He could suck the general off. That wouldn’t be a big deal. What was more worrisome was the jealousy General Stilinski had already expressed over the little attention or affection Derek had received. How would he react to his best friend getting a benefit that a husband was supposed to have?

“Stiles! He’s making eyes at me!”

General McCall crutched away from him, and Derek shrugged. Well, he’d have to find something else the general wanted in exchange for his rug.

“Breakfast, buddy,” General Stilinski said, clamping a hand onto Derek’s shoulder and steering him toward where General McCall had gone. “Don’t proposition my friend. Don’t even try it with me. If Scott said you can have something, he means it. He doesn’t want to be repaid.”

“What about you?” Derek asked. “If you give me something, do you want something in return?”

General Stilinski took a long time to respond, thinking it over. He finally said, “I want your trust, but I won’t earn it by giving you things to buy it. So, I’ll say this: you are my husband only in name. There is no action that I will take that even entertains the notion that you have to pay me back, much less with sexual favors.”

Derek flushed, shame burning bright on his face.

General Stilinski sighed. “It’s okay. We’re not mad at you. Just, go eat. It’s pancakes. You know what pancakes are, right?”

Derek nodded. Master Kate had allowed the werewolves in her compound to celebrate a new birth by giving them flour and sugar and a skillet. They improvised the rest and often had dry, crumbling cake from a pan. It wasn’t the tastiest thing Derek had ever eaten, but he had eaten a lot of other, worse things.

Still, a pan-cake meant that the generals weren’t mad at him. And General Stilinski hadn’t left yet, which meant Derek got to sit next to him, subtly touch his arm, and draw comfort for the long days without his husband.

The pan-cake General McCall set on a plate in front of Derek was most definitely not the same as the one his father used to make. Derek frowned down at it, poking it.

“I thought you said you’d seen a pancake before,” General Stilinski said.

“I have,” Derek responded, stabbing it again. It seemed…moist. He used the fork and his fingers to tear off a bite.

“Do you want syrup or butter?” General McCall asked. He didn’t wait for an answer and handed General Stilinski a bottle of brown liquid while he carried a small yellow tub to the table.

Derek didn’t answer, too busy wolfing down the definitely not-a-pan-cake. He licked the plate to get all the crumbs and then stared forlornly at it while the generals stifled laughter.

“I have more,” General McCall said, dumping a stack of three on the plate. Derek dug in, forgoing the fork to stuff entire pan-cakes into his mouth.

“Thank you,” he said, muffled, around the food.

“You’re welcome.”

There was a knock at the front door, and Derek perked up. Isaac was back. He liked Isaac and wanted to find him another sweet. Maybe he could ride into town later today? He looked at General Stilinski as Isaac repeated his knock louder.

“Oh, that must be Isaac,” General Stilinski said. He picked up a mug printed with a large heart and some letters that Derek couldn’t read, sipping at it before handing it to General McCall to put in the sink. “Got to run now. Bye, Scott. Bye, Derek.” He ruffled Derek’s hair, leaning in quick to drop a kiss to his crown.

He picked up his suitcase, straightened his tie, and walked out of the kitchen. The door slammed shut behind him.

Derek had known he was leaving, but it still felt like his chest was being ripped open. A small sob broke loose before he could stop it, and General McCall sank into the chair next to him, wrapping an arm around him.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

Derek shook his head. How could he say that he missed his husband already? General McCall wouldn’t understand. He hadn’t wanted them to get married in the first place. No one had. If General Stilinski had had another option, he wouldn’t have either.

“Is this that tactile thing the council mentioned?” General McCall patted at Derek’s shoulder, and it made the feeling of betrayal worse. Not only had his husband abandoned him, he’d left him alone with a stranger and no way to contact his family. Wasn’t he supposed to be free? No one, not a single human, cared enough about werewolves, about Derek, to help him. It made him start crying again.

“Hey now, he’ll be back before you know it.” Lies. Derek could hear General McCall’s heartbeat ticking, skipping beats, and lying to him.

He tried to choke down his tears, too angry to stop now. The pan-cakes sat heavy in his stomach and he found himself leaning over the table and dry-heaving.

General McCall shuffled off his seat but came back quickly, shoving a plastic bowl under Derek’s chin.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, miserably. “I miss him already too.”

That wasn’t a lie. Derek lifted his head. “Why did he have to go?”

“He needs to go speak to the colleges in the Republic.”

“Why?”

“To help keep them from making the same mistakes our parents did when they were that age.”

“Why couldn’t I go with him?”

General McCall shook his head. “You’d have been bored. Your contact with him wouldn’t have been much better that it is now. Stiles wouldn’t be able to present his lectures if he was constantly worrying over you.”

Derek thought back to the platform yesterday. “How many Private Ennises are there?” he asked.

“Private?”

“His rank. Yours is general.”

“Oh, no need to call me general. Just Scott is fine. Listen, I’ve got some spare clothes from when I was a kid. I’m sure something will fit you. Go upstairs, change your clothes, and then we’ll go out to the garden. We’ll find something to take your mind off of Stiles.” Almost as an afterthought, General McCall—Scott—added, “You can call him Stiles too. You don’t have to refer to us by our titles. I get respect, but man, it’s creepy coming from a ten year old kid.”

“I’m thirteen,” Derek reminded him sullenly before stomping to the stairs.

~ * ~

By the time Derek made it back downstairs dressed in a too-big shirt with a strange creature on the front and brown pants rolled up to his knees, Gen—Scott was ready, standing by the door, dragging a chair from the kitchen with him as he struggled with the crutch under his damaged arm.

Derek took the chair and followed Scott as he moved around the outside of the house, walking into the forest. Five minutes later, they came to a fenced-in area. A patch of grass had been overturned, and it was on the edge of this that Scott motioned for him to set the chair down.

Then, he picked up a utensil leaning against the fence explaining, “This is called a hoe. We use it to make rows that we’ll plant seeds in later. This is a garden, where we’ll grow some food.”

Scott used his bad hand to brace the hoe in his other hand, steadying his rows. Derek watched him in interest. After a dozen rows, Scott handed him the tool and positioned his hands.

“It’s easier to use it like this even if you have range of motion in both hands,” Scott said. Then, he pulled on Derek’s shoulder as they walked backwards.

Derek’s row was crooked and several times the hoe had actually left the ground, but it was his row, and Scott beamed at him when they reached the end of the patch of dirt.

“That’s good,” Scott said. “Just keep doing that. Practice makes perfect and all that. The more you do, the straighter you’ll get.”

Scott limped back to his chair and sank into it with a little grunt and sigh of pain. Derek clenched his hands on the hoe before setting it down gently. He approached Scott loudly from the front, stamping his feet and making noise.

When he got to Scott, he held out his hand, staring at it until Scott tentatively put his hand on it. Derek concentrated on the pain he could feel thrumming in Scott, pulling it into himself, watching as his veins stood out, bulging with black poison as Scott’s body relaxed, tension leaving him.

Abruptly, the pain surged into Derek, and startled, he let go. It was much worse than it had been on the train. Perhaps the general had been overworking himself with the garden?

Scott gasped, sagging down in his chair and panting while Derek hunched in on himself, trying to swallow the whimpers burning in his throat.

“Does that hurt you?” Scott asked. His eyes were kind, knowing, and Derek wanted to lie to him, spare him this truth.

But, he couldn’t. To lie was to bring punishment down on himself, and even if it was just Scott out in a large garden behind his house, no one around for miles, Derek could not bring himself to speak an untruth.

“Yes,” he said. Scott struggled to sit up. “No.” Derek pushed him back. “It hurts me for a moment, but you are always in pain. I can make it less. Why wouldn’t you want that?”

“I don’t want to be the cause of your misery.”

Resolutely, Derek put his hand back on Scott’s arm and pulled the pain again. This time, it hurt less and he was able to take more.

Scott sighed, letting him.

“I’m going to write a letter to Stiles tonight. Do you want to help?”

“How would I?” Derek asked. “I don’t know how to write.”

“No?” Scott looked intrigued. “That explains so much.” He climbed out of the chair, moving almost fluidly until his arm broke contact with Derek’s hand and he hunched over in pain again. He grabbed a stick though and moved to the freshly turned dirt, scratching at it and drawing lines.

“This is the alphabet,” he explained. “This is an ‘a.’” He tapped at one of the symbols, two lines leaning against each other at their top while their legs spread, connected by a single mark through their middles. “‘B.’” A line with two curved lines attached to its front. “‘C.’”A single curved line. “‘D.’” A straight line with a single curved line. Derek’s head swam with the information.

“‘D,’” he repeated, “like my name?”

“Yes, exactly!” Scott crowed, marking another ‘D’ in the dirt. He added four more symbols. None of which Derek recognized. “That’s how you spell your name.” Scott squinted at him. “Well, it’s one of the most common spellings anyway.”

“Derek,” Derek repeated, tracing the letters with his own stick. “My name.”

He grinned at Scott, happy, truly happy, for the first time that he could remember.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **More Specific Warnings:**  
>  1\. When Stiles, Scott, and Derek arrive in Beacon Hills, Ennis attempts (he doesn't succeed) to attack Derek.  
> 2\. It is revealed that Isaac is being abused.  
> 3\. During the discussion of recovering artifacts from victims of the hunter army, Derek recalls Kate used to use golden chains during her abuse of him. Starts with "What does jewelry have to do..." and ends before "Jewelry, at least prior to..."  
> 4\. Derek's inner monologue reveals that Kate forced Talia to "give" him to her as a sex slave in order to save the rest of the family from disease.  
> 5\. Derek thinks about having to trade favors (in this instance, a blow job for a rug) to the generals. Both Stiles and Scott assure him that's not the case.
> 
> Forgot to say earlier, but yes, the army that Stiles and Scott fought in was named after the Rebel Alliance of _Star Wars_. (Backstory: John Stilinski was the one to first organize the Rebel Alliance, secretly, he's a nerd--it's where Stiles gets his love of _Star Wars_ from. No one (except John and Coach) know who started the resistance to the hunter army.)
> 
> This story is still un-Beta-ed. All mistakes are my own and will be fixed (or attempted) at the conclusion of the story. Thank you.


	7. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm short on time. I'll try to come back to this and fix any more mistakes I can.
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> Edit: fixed more of the mistakes.

~ * ~

The whole train ride, Stiles could think of nothing but the sharp sob he’d heard Derek let out before he’d even left. He thought of the council’s warning, the threat of Eichen House looming over their relationship. They were going to force him to emotionally cripple a child rather than grant an annulment. Hell, he wasn’t sure that they’d even given him the means to contact Derek’s family.

Guiltily, Stiles thought he should have secured that information before they’d left San Bernardino, but seeing Danny and experiencing his rage had unsettled him enough that he had failed his husband. Besides, the council’s motives were unclear, shady, and unsettling.

Stiles decided he would ask for Derek’s family’s contacts when he went down to southern California.

Derek would just have to wait until then. There were only three colleges up here anyway, so Derek wouldn’t be waiting too long. Stiles pulled out his planner, helpfully provided by the Lassen College, scribbling a note to himself so that he would remember when he got down that way again in about two weeks.

For now, though, he leaned his head against the glass and let himself drift off.

~ * ~

Stiles clutched the water bottle the head of student activities passed him. He had prepared this speech a thousand times but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t nervous.

He tried to compartmentalize, but these were college kids, barely old enough to vote let alone think like soldiers. How was he supposed to relate to them without calling them babies? Without belittling their experiences?

Logistically, he knew he’d been like that once, but that was a long time ago. Stiles hadn’t even gotten a chance to go to college, and if he’d bowed to the hunters’ rules, he’d probably be dead right now. Perhaps that made him jaded as he studied the few baby-faced students already in their seats, staring back at him.

He sipped at the water while he waited for his cue. Students were still filing in and sitting at the direction of their teachers. Stiles counted maybe a hundred faces before he lost count. So many eyes, so many mouths. So many brains.

Stiles swallowed wrong, and had to stifle his coughing in his fist. By the time he got it under control, the head of student activities was introducing him.

“General Mikey-slav Stilinski.”

Stiles winced at her poor pronunciation. “Actually, it’s Mieczysław,” he corrected gently. “But, everyone calls me Stiles.”

“Welcome, Stiles,” she said, clapping. The applause died down quickly.

“So,” Stiles said awkwardly. “This is my first time doing this, so I’m going to explain a little bit about what I did and what I hoped it would accomplish. After that, I’ll open the floor for questions.”

A kid with a backward baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses hanging from the neck of his shirt stood up. He held himself in the arrogant manner only a child raised with the best of things or the worst beliefs could.

“What makes you qualified to speak to us?” he demanded. “I mean, they want us to listen to a killer talk about how he killed innocent people.”

“My missions,” Stiles said, as calmly as he could, “never targeted innocents.” He glanced briefly at all the people gathered there before snapping his gaze back to the disaster daring to interrupt his speech. “I was what was known as a cleaner. I went into zones unsuited for large-scale assaults, such as the Argent compound in Chula Vista. Kate Argent is dead because of me, yes, but more people, more supernaturals would be dead too. Kate Argent’s compound was taken down with minimal loss of life. And, it ended the war between the HUSA and the Rebel Alliance sooner as well.”

“And who started the war, huh?” the kid demanded.

“Jesus,” Stiles hissed. Louder, he said, “The hunters did when they decided that some of our population didn’t have the same rights as the rest of us.” He slid off his stool and grabbed a piece of chalk, making a short list of things on the board behind him. No one said anything as he scribbled. Once done, he tossed the chalk into the trough, dusted off his hands, and resettled himself on the stool.

Top of the list was _fat soup_.

“What is that?” the same kid asked, disgusted.

“It’s a soup made with the drippings of beef. Water and fat. Sometimes carrots, I’ve been told. Do you know who told me?”

As one, the group shook their heads.

“Kate Argent’s werewolves. In particular, a young boy she kept in her throne room.”

“Why are pancakes on the list?” someone else, a woman with a streak of silver threaded through her bright purple hair, asked.

“Because, this morning, I asked him if he’d had pancakes before. He assured me he had. It was obvious from his reaction to an actual pancake that whatever he had encountered was not a pancake. Think about that. How many of you grew up eating pancakes, bagels, soup with more than three ingredients? Inside Kate Argent’s compound, there were several starved werewolves. None more so than the boy in her throne room.”

“And what happened to that boy?” the woman asked. “You said you watched him eat pancakes this morning. Did you adopt him?”

Stiles shook his head. “I married him,” he said. The room erupted into outrage, and Stiles sat there, twiddling his thumbs, waiting for them to quiet down. As soon as they did, he hopped off the stool and started writing on the board again.

This time, he added _sexual assault_ , _whore_ , and _highest bidder_ to the list.

“The time that I spent in the barracks in San Bernardino, I listened to my fellow soldiers, the ones not being made obsolete and forced out. Talk among them was about the Argent whore that had recently lost its master and needed to be taken in.” No one spoke. “Because I was immediately tapped to do this speaking tour, I was unable to accompany the boy with his family and made a decision. It is one I regret only because it keeps the boy from his family, but I would do it again if I had to in order to protect him.”

Stiles pointed at the sexual assault line. “When we stepped off the platform in my hometown, a soldier, a private, _a werewolf_ , grabbed this boy intending to kidnap him.”

Stiles sighed, drinking from the water bottle. “Look, you can argue that the second war was started by the Rebel Alliance—it was—but there would have been no need for it if the hunters hadn’t killed or imprisoned an entire population. Do you know how many supernatural creatures went extinct during their purging?”

From there, he had their undivided attention, and he spoke at length about what he had done, why he had been necessary. He spent time trying to raise awareness for the issues the soldiers were facing, like the increasing episodes of PTSD.

At the end, when he finally allowed questions, he was bombarded with thoughtful, insightful notes, comments, and praise. He noticed that while silver-and-purple spoke again, backward-hat-and-sunglasses did not.

~ * ~

Riding the train to the University of Mount Shasta was uneventful, as was the lecture. People seemed less surprised to hear that he had married a child, much less a werewolf victim. In fact, he had several women approach him afterward to tell him that they would have done the same if presented with that option.

Simpson University cancelled their stop, citing the nearby riots. Stiles watched Redding burn bright against the night sky as he headed to Beacon Hills, a mere thirty minutes away. One week of his tour was now complete.

Redding had been evacuated months ago, with only the college and a few key businesses staying open. But now, it was a lost cause.

Stiles would be very surprised if the violence didn’t spill over into Beacon Hills with how close the two towns were.

He spent the night at Scott’s again, and wasn’t surprised to find Derek (and the trunk) in the living room. He was surprised, however, when the boy didn’t even stir when he checked on him.

“We worked in the garden,” Scott explained as he heated up a plate of vegetables with a thin slab of meat. “He ate three servings tonight. I think he’s filling out nicely. He already seems much stronger than a typical thirteen year old.”

“How’s he taking the separation?” Stiles asked, recalling the sob he’d overheard.

Scott shrugged. “He’s dealing with it. Did you know that he doesn’t know how to read?”

“What? Really?” Stiles paused. “Actually, that doesn’t surprise me that much. I mean, their food was severely limited. Why would the hunters let them become educated? If you want to make someone less than a second-class citizen, you don’t let them have the same opportunities.”

Scott hummed. “Anyway, I’m teaching him how to read and write. I’ll find someone who can handle the other basic education requirements. But, I can’t do that until the garden comes in. I need the rest of my ration notes for food. If he keeps eating like he is, I’ll need a new pantry before next week.”

“Do we know why he sleeps in that trunk?” Stiles asked.

“Best guess is it’s a familiar feeling. Do you want to say good night to him?”

Stiles shook his head. “I’ll see him in the morning before I go.” He sighed. “Take care of yourself, eh? Redding is gone.”

“I’d heard that. Apparently Isaac was supposed to start at Simpson this year but his dad wouldn’t let him go.”

“I wish things were different,” Stiles said. “I wish we hadn’t had to fight, I wish the hunters would just vanish, I wish for a lot of things.”

“I do too.” They fell quiet for a few minutes before Scott stood up, reaching for his crutches. “I hate what we’ve become. I hate that we’re the bad guys because we stood up for what’s right. And I hate that I have to live with the physical and emotional scars while everyone either stares at me with pity or rage.”

He stared at the wall behind Stiles’ head before adding quietly, “I’m thinking of taking Derek up on the offer of the bite.”

“I can’t condone it,” Stiles said, “but I won’t stop you. I know you don’t have the same quality of life that I do, and I know the bite might help with it.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Stiles finished his plate, carrying it to the sink for Scott. “Maybe I will stay with Derek tonight. He needs contact, right?”

“I think the couch pulls out if you want to sleep there tonight. It’d probably be more comfortable than sitting in a chair while Derek stays in the trunk.”

“Yeah, you know, that’d be good.”

“I’ll go find some pillows and blankets; you get the couch pulled out.”

Scott limped away, leaning heavily on his crutches. As much as Derek had tired himself out, it looked like Scott needed to ease up a bit too.

Stiles shook his head. There was no telling Scott what to do when he got an idea, like the garden, into his head. And Derek would probably help him happily. It was something to do. Plus, Scott could spin it that Derek’s labor was repayment enough for his lessons. Stiles unclenched his fist, working through the anger that sparked whenever he thought of just how mistreated the boy and his family had been. Of how the boy _still_ expected the same mistreatment. He hoped someone was taking the time to teach the Hales how to survive in the human world like Scott was doing for Derek.

The couch was easy enough to open, and the thump of it settling into a bed was enough to rouse the boy. Derek blinked at him, staring blankly until Scott came back and thrust a stack of folded blankets at Stiles’ chest. Then, Derek scrambled out from the trunk and hurried to Stiles’ side, taking the blankets and setting them down on the couch. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, squeezing gently.

Stiles saw what Scott meant about the strength, as it was obvious that Derek was a lot stronger than he had been even a week ago. Good food and good people, Stiles thought.

“So, I don’t have to leave until tomorrow afternoon,” he said into the boy’s hair. “I was thinking I’d get to know you a little better.”

Derek stiffened before pulling back, head down, posture screaming submission. Stiles gently lifted his chin, but the boy kept his eyes downcast.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to,” Stiles promised. “All I want to do is talk to you before you go back to sleep. Is that okay?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Don’t you want to be asked?”

Derek nodded hesitantly. Stiles let a smile tug at his lips. “Come on, lie down. Tell me about the garden. Do you like working in it?”

Derek smiled back, crawling onto the bed. “I learned some alpha-beta too.”

“Alphabet,” Scott corrected, dropping a couple pillows onto the couch. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Stiles replied, and Derek echoed it a second later, face pressed into the pillow he’d claimed.

Scott left, turning off the light.

Stiles grinned down at Derek still sniffing his pillow. “Smell good?”

Derek nodded. “What is it for?”

Stiles grabbed his own pillow and tucked it behind his head. “It’s for your head.”

Derek copied him. “It feels weird,” he said.

“Comfortable-weird or get-this-away-from-me-weird?” Stiles asked.

“The first one.” Derek turned onto his side, staring at Stiles. Without the light, the only part of Derek he could clearly see were his eyes, and there was a distinct yellowish hue to them.

“Are you scared of me?” he asked, unsure if he wanted the answer.

Derek didn’t respond for such a long time that Stiles had all but given up on it and was dozing off.

“Maybe sometimes,” Derek admitted. “You’re so much bigger than me. So was Master Kate. I don’t want to be hurt again, but I know you have that right as my husband.”

Anger swelled at the word “Master,” but the definite yellow flash of Derek’s eyes helped Stiles rein it in. He wasn’t mad at Derek but rather at Kate Argent. If he could kill her again, he would.

“I will not do anything to you that you don’t want me to. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. If you want me to hold you, I will. The only thing I ask is that you don’t fall prey to the circumstances of your childhood. I will protect you from as much as I can as well.”

“Will you love me?” Derek asked. “You already are jealous of people that touch me.”

“How do you know?”

“You smelled like raisins on the train when I took Gen—Scott’s pain.”

“‘Raisins mean jealousy,’” Stiles remembered. “Yeah, I guess so. Different emotions smell like different things?”

“Love is lavender,” Derek said. “You haven’t smelled like lavender yet.”

“Well, that’s because I’ve only just met you and you’re still so young. Besides, wouldn’t romantic love smell different than platonic or familial love?”

Derek nodded. “Perhaps. The only love I’ve encountered smelled like lavender.” He paused. “At least, my mother said it was lavender. She’s the one who taught me all the good scents. Master Kate taught me the bad ones, like hate and anger.”

There was that “Master” again. Stiles glared at his hands, curled on the pillow beside his head. Derek reached over, tracing a finger down his hand. Stiles jerked under his touch.

“You’re mad again,” he whispered.

“Yes, but not at you.” Stiles frowned at their hands, at the way Derek’s was so small covering his. A child. He was lying here with a child. It didn’t matter that they were each wrapped in their own blanket or that they both still had all their clothes on. Stiles still felt shameful and dirty. Yes, this was his husband, but his husband was thirteen. What was he even doing? He should have fought the council harder for an annulment.

“I’m mad at myself and at Kate. What we’ve done to you is horrible. You should be with your family, not stuck here in Beacon Hills. I’m mad. Why aren’t you?”

Derek looked away, drawing his hand back. “I did not think I had the right,” he said softly. “Do I, husband?”

“You have the right to feel any emotion you like,” Stiles answered. “You are your own person.”

“Thank you, husband,” Derek said. He sat up, grabbing the pillow. “I think I’d like to return to the box now.”

“Don’t,” Stiles said. “I’ll go sleep on the cot upstairs. You stay here. I am sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

Derek watched him as he carried his blanket and pillow with him. “I am not uncomfortable,” he said as Stiles put his foot onto the first step. “It is you who is uncomfortable with this arrangement.” He flopped back down, the pillow over his face, while Stiles stood there, stunned.

Derek was right though. Stiles was the one who was uncomfortable, but it was because of himself and his own choices, not Derek. Derek was a thirteen year old boy who had been horribly abused. Stiles was the twenty-seven year old man trying to play hero when Derek didn’t need a hero.

Stiles sighed, continuing up the stairs. He could examine it again in the morning. For now, he really needed to sleep.

~ * ~

Derek was already at the table when Stiles managed to drag himself down the stairs. The boy was watching Scott intently as he whisked milk, sugar, and eggs together.

“A dash of vanilla,” Scott sang as he poured a careful capful of liquid into his mixture.

“Vanilla smells like insincerity,” Derek remarked.

“Well then, this will be the most insincere French toast you’ll ever have.”

It was a happy scene, and Stiles could imagine that it was Scott to whom Derek was married until the boy looked up and his jovial grin disappeared. His eyes, large and luminous in the early morning sun darkened and he ducked his head.

Scott noticed the change, and glanced at the doorway. “Stiles,” he said, false enthusiasm. “Good morning.”

“’Morning,” Stiles greeted back. He took the seat across from Derek today, waiting while Scott slapped a few slices of bread through the mixture and onto the stove. He used the pan itself to flip them before sliding them onto a plate. He stared Stiles down as he handed it to Derek, almost challenging with his glare.

Stiles held up his hands. “Hey, I’m good. I can get my own food.”

Scott laughed. “You might have to. My leg isn’t cooperating this morning.” He sank into the seat next to Derek, rubbing at his knee. Derek used one hand to cram a slice of bread in his mouth while he set the other on Scott’s knee, drawing the pain out.

“Thank you, bud,” Scott said, ruffling Derek’s hair.

Stiles stood up and started making more French toast. “I was thinking that before I leave again, I’d like to see the garden,” he said as casually as he could. He gave the second finished batch to Scott, handing him a small packet of powdered sugar. Then, he mixed another batch and cooked more bread.

“That would be nice,” Scott said. “You’ve got a better eye for the produce that we’ll be able to grow.”

“Can we grow carrots?” Derek asked.

“As long as I can make an actual soup instead of fat soup,” Scott promised.

“With actual meat instead of just the drippings,” Stiles added. “Let me know how he likes it if I’m not here when the carrots come in.”

“Sure. Give me your posting code, and I’ll send you weekly updates.”

Stiles grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled the sixteen-digit number assigned to soldiers to ensure the delivery of their mail. The Republic had agreed to allow all active and former service members to keep their posting codes.

It meant that Stiles could send replies to Scott if the fighting in Redding displaced him. Derek was less fortunate, but Stiles trusted Scott to stick with the boy and make sure he got to safety.

“Be careful going into town,” Stiles said. “Don’t be surprised by attacks.”

“Yeah, you said something about Redding last night.”

“They were burning the town last night when the train passed it. My speaking engagement was canceled. Hell, the whole town was evacuated months ago. Why wasn’t the college though?”

“I guess they thought college kids would be safer without residential neighborhoods around them.”

Stiles shook his head. “That probably just painted a target on the college’s back.”

“You know, they were probably looking for you,” Scott said. “I mean, Redding is as close as they’ve come in a long while. What was supposed to happen yesterday? You were supposed to be there.”

Derek looked up from poking his breakfast with his fingers. “Who are they?” he asked.

“Hunter resistance,” Stiles spit. “The ones that refuse to believe that they lost the war.”

“Most of the hunters either fled to another state or were captured. There were a few factions that remained in California. They’re making their presence known now.”

“If I come across any of them, I won’t be retired for much longer,” Stiles said. “There’s no room in California for their narrow-minded bullshit. We beat them once, and by God, we’ll do it again. We’ll have the supernaturals on our side too.”

“Will you teach them to fight or will you expect them to know already?” Derek asked. He rinsed his plate off, setting it in the sink before walking away. Stiles stared after him, wondering at the answer too. Obviously, the supernaturals, most of them anyway, were equipped to fight. But, could they?

They had been suppressed, forced to be docile for the better part of three decades. The hunters wouldn’t have trained them, so the Republic would have to. But, again, would they?

Would the Republic want to train a people that could rise up against all humans, attacking and killing indiscriminately?

Soldiers like Private Ennis meant that already the Rebel Alliance had answered that question with an affirmative. However, the Rebel Alliance had all but been disbanded. The soldiers serving now were a near-new stock. Stiles and Scott hadn’t been the only ones forced out.

Finstock, their sergeant, was now a brigadier general, sitting behind a desk in the Capitol, going stir crazy if reports were to be believed.

Hell, Ennis had probably been kicked out too. Thankfully, he hadn’t been promoted, but that might have been because of his supernatural status rather than the fact that the promotions were appeasements.

“Should we go out to the garden now?”

Scott shrugged. “Will you be okay by yourself? I want to see if Isaac had a chance to bring some food down for Derek.”

“Do you think I should come with you?”

Scott looked toward the front of the house. “I think you should let it be for now. You can say goodbye before you leave again.”

It felt like exile, to be left behind while everyone else’s lives moved forward. Stiles was roped into doing something he didn’t want but couldn’t find the courage to say no. Maybe they really would be better off without him.

“I see,” he said, standing up and dusting off his pants. “Well, I’ll go check out the garden and leave my recommendations. If I don’t see you before I go…I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Scott said, but he was distracted, struggling with his crutches. Stiles offered a hand that was ignored as Scott limped out to the foyer, calling for Derek.

Jealousy rose in Stiles’ chest, choking him until he thought he could taste the raisins Derek claimed he smelled of when he let that particular emotion overcome him.

Guilty, he sank back into his seat. “This is not what I wanted,” he said softly. He didn’t even know how to fix it.

The garden could wait. Stiles needed to get out of here now. He tugged at his collar, slapping the side of his head to help dispel the attack he could feel coming on. He did not need to deal with this shit right now.

His suitcase was still packed, and he grabbed it on his way out the door. It was a good bit back to town, but if Isaac was out this way, Stiles could call him and have him pick him up.

Stiles paused at the door, turning back to Scott’s house. He caught sight of Derek lurking up by the top of the stairs. The boy looked like he’d been crying, his face reddened.

“I’ll be back,” Stiles said, not a promise. Right now, he wasn’t sure he could come back to Beacon Hills. If even Scott turned his back on him, then Stiles would have nothing left.

Derek frowned. “You’re lying,” he said. “Please don’t lie to me.”

“I can’t right now.”

“Are you going to look at the garden now?” Derek asked. “Please?”

Stiles set his suitcase down and held out his hand. Derek scrambled down the stairs and wrapped his arms around Stiles, squeezing tightly, uncaring of his strength even if he didn't hurt Stiles.

“Don’t go away again,” Derek mumbled into Stiles’ chest. “It hurts when you do.”

The sting of jealously abated somewhat, and Stiles was relieved until even more guilt swelled, taking its place. “I can’t stay here,” he tried to explain. “I don’t belong anymore, if I ever did. My own father left this place after my mother died. He entrusted my care to Scott’s mother. I think that’s the only reason Scott and I were friends. Now, I don’t know if Scott wants to remain friends, and if I lose him, I lose my last tie to this town.”

“What about me?”

“As soon as the year is over, we’ll seek an annulment and you’ll go to live with your family. For now, you’re safe with Scott.”

“Do you really hate being married to me that much?” Derek asked.

“I don’t hate you at all,” Stiles replied. “My issue is the fact that I never asked you if you wanted to be married. Derek, you’re a child. It wasn’t right of me to do that to you, no matter how noble I was trying to be.”

“What if I told you that I don’t blame you?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.” Stiles sighed, pulling back enough that he could meet Derek’s gaze. “I don’t think you’ve processed the fact that you are free. Even if you have a husband who you seem to think should control your every move. I’m not stopping you from seeking out your family, and I know you want to take Scott to them so that he can receive the bite from your alpha. I really don’t think we’re listening to each other.”

“Yes we are,” Derek disagreed. “You can hear my words and I can hear your words. We are listening.”

Stiles let a fond smile curve his lips, brushing the hair from Derek’s forehead. Whoever had cut his hair had left a fringe that soon would fall into the boy’s eyes. He stood barely as tall as the top of Stiles’ chest, and it served as a reminder to Stiles that this was a child he was talking to. He tried to temper his next words. “Talking isn’t the same as listening. I keep saying that I am sorry for taking away your autonomy.”

“What’s that?” Derek interrupted.

“It means the ability to make your own choices. Did you want to get married or were you married off against your wishes?”

“I didn’t really want to,” Derek said. “Is that what you mean, you took away my atonomy?”

“Autonomy,” Stiles corrected. “Yes, by not asking you before the ceremony, I didn’t give you any options. I’m sure you wouldn’t have chosen to get married and certainly not to me.”

Derek looked thoughtful. “I didn’t,” he said. “I wanted to go with my family. They weren’t even sent to where they are all at once.”

“No?”

Derek shook his head. “My mother and older sister were taken first. My father and younger sister were next. My uncle was last.”

“Two by two,” Stiles realized. “Shit. You would have been sent with them if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“I didn’t understand why I couldn’t go, and then the council summoned me. I didn’t recognize you at first. I should have.”

“The last time you’d seen me was when I dragged you out to the transport wagon. I was fully dressed in black. How were you supposed to recognize me?”

Derek shrugged, tapping the side of his nose. “Scents don’t change. And I recognized your eyes.”

“So, because the council refuses to grant an annulment until after at least a year of marriage, I’m giving you the option to go to your family.”

“What about Scott? Doesn’t he need someone here to help him?”

Stiles glanced up, catching sight of Scott at the foot of the stairs. He shook his head, but Derek perked up.

“He does,” he declared. “Then, as your husband, I shall stay here and help him.”

“That’s very generous of you, Derek,” Scott said, “but I can manage just fine. You should go to your family. It’s where you belong.”

Instead of arguing, Derek reached back and gripped Scott’s arm. The black lines appeared quickly, and Scott nearly sagged in relief.

“Stop doing that,” he said weakly. “It hurts you.”

“Not as much as leaving you in pain does,” Derek said. He looked to Stiles for approval, and Stiles shrugged.

“This is giving you your autonomy,” he said. “Do you want to stay with Scott? Or do you want to do something else?”

“Stay with Scott,” Derek answered without hesitation. “He needs me more than my family does right now.”

“You can’t know that for certain,” Scott protested.

“Isaac is here,” Derek said, forestalling any more discussion as Stiles grabbed his suitcase, kissed the crown of Derek’s head, and embraced Scott tightly before stepping out onto the porch.

Isaac looked grim, a blackened eye and a swollen jaw. “It’s official, Redding is gone. Beacon Hills is next, isn’t it?”

“It probably is,” Stiles confirmed. “And I have to leave again. Fuck, I wish all the hunters could just die.”

“Wrong,” Isaac said, “Redding was razed because it supported the hunters during the war.” He frowned at Stiles’ puzzled look. “I thought you knew that? You were scheduled to speak at the college to help sway their alliances.”

“We did this?” Stiles asked. He could feel Scott and Derek at his back. “The Rebel Alliance, the Republic did this?”

Isaac shrugged. “At least there were no deaths?”

Stiles shook his head. “This behavior cannot be tolerated. I don’t care that there weren’t any deaths. Redding is small. What if these factions attack somewhere like Fresno or Sacramento?”

“Somewhere an evacuation notice won’t work?” Scott asked.

“Exactly. Fuck. Someone has to let the council know. We need to find these people, bring them to justice.”

“Not us,” Scott said. “The army.”

The army. Stiles wasn’t army anymore. He’d actually forgotten for a moment. That hollow feeling in his chest hurt a little more with the reminder. “I’ll contact them on my way to my next college,” he said. “I promise that I won’t be more involved than that unless I am asked.”

“Be safe,” Scott said. “You too, Isaac. And let me know if you want me to put the fear of God in your father.”

“Thank you, General McCall,” Isaac said, rubbing at his jaw and wincing. “I think I’d appreciate that.”

Stiles picked up his suitcase and stuck it in the back of Isaac’s four-door. Apparently, he had changed vehicles when he realized that he would be over here nearly every day. Smart boy. Shame about his dad.

If Michael Lahey didn’t shape up after a talk with Scott, Stiles might just pay the man a visit on his next trip home.

He waved at Scott and Derek still standing on the porch as Isaac got into the driver’s seat.

This was going to be a long week.

Stiles closed his eyes.

~ * ~


	8. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since there are so many tags that overlap, if you think I've forgotten to tag something major, let me know.

~ * ~

Derek spent most days either at Stiles’ house or down in the garden. With his enhanced hearing, he could tell when Scott needed him and was able to spend more time away from the houses. Especially because when he was home, Stiles was avoiding them. This Derek knew because he would arrive at Stiles’ house, there would be a bag of trash tied off and left in the kitchen, dishes freshly washed, his scent strong for a few days while he was gone again. Not once did Derek see his husband.

Occasionally, rarely, Stiles would come over to have dinner with Scott. On those days, Derek stayed down at the garden all day, only coming back when he heard Isaac’s car on the long driveway because it meant that Stiles was leaving again.

Scott kept putting off the trip to get the bite, and Derek was starting to resent him for it since it meant that although Stiles had granted him the ability to travel to his family, he didn’t have reason or cause and couldn’t. Not to mention that he had no ration papers or items for trade to pay for his ticket.

Scott had recently reached out to a service that provided him with emotional needs. Sometimes Derek would enter the house, basket of ripe produce on his hip ready for supper, and Scott would be in the middle of a call. The woman on the other side of the phone sounded familiar, but Scott usually ushered him out when she called and he noticed Derek nearby, so Derek was unable to place her voice.

Today was one of those days. The woman had called early, before breakfast, and Derek had so far spent all his time down in the garden.

He kicked at a rock before picking it up and chucking it into the woods. He heard it clatter off the low wall that ran the length of the generals’ properties. Derek didn’t think he’d damaged the wall but he knew he’d better check it before Scott did and yelled at him.

He found the rock resting against the wall. It was chipped, but the wall was intact. Scott would not be happy but he wouldn’t be mad either.

Derek froze as a strange scent wafted over him. He snapped his gaze back to the wall and stared at the person who was standing there.

It was a woman of medium height. Her low heels and the fact that she was standing on the wall made her seem a dozen feet tall. Derek eyed her wordlessly. Her dark hair was piled on her head in a twisted bun, her eyes darkened with a sharp outline, her mouth redder than eating berries. She was pretty in a human way that did not appeal to Derek at all. Her eyes reminded him of Master Kate’s, cold and mean.

He shifted uncomfortably under her steady gaze.

He could smell the wolfsbane on her now, see the knives shoved in her belt, the crossbow on her back. In one hand, she held a pair of lenses attached to each other. In the other, she held a small silver box, like Scott’s black box. A phone.

“Scott,” she said into it. “I have to go.”

Derek’s spine remained rigid while his shoulders relaxed. She knew Scott. Even if she smelled like a hunter, she couldn’t be entirely bad, could she?

What if she was Scott’s new friend? She certainly sounded like that woman.

Derek recalled the conversation with Danny before his wedding. If Stiles could change so much and yet so little, who was to say that this strange woman, a hunter, wasn’t the same? He tried to ignore the voice inside his head that said hunters never changed.

Derek could hear Scott’s tinny response, and her name struck fear into his heart.

“Allison,” Scott said.

Allison. Kate’s niece.

She was an unchanged hunter then.

A young woman of maybe fifteen when he first encountered her after a particularly nasty session with Master Kate. He had managed to crawl back to his box where he found Allison going through his bedding, an air of disgust clinging to her.

That had been the first time that Master Kate had hurt him sexually, and he was not proud of the fact that he’d begged Allison to help him.

He didn’t remember her response as Kate had found him and dragged him back for another round. He did recall the way Allison’s face had settled into a cold mask of muted fury.

Then, she’d had lighter hair, maybe dyed. Her eyes had been lighter too. Now, they were dark, almost black, like her hair.

She had gone to great lengths to change her appearance. He was curious as to why.

With her standing here on Stiles’ property, staring him down, he did not doubt that nothing had changed since that day three years ago and that should he ask for help now, she still wouldn’t administer it.

“This is private property,” he told her, pointing at a sign posted a mere fifteen feet away from where she stood.

“ _I’m_ the one trespassing?” she demanded. “Who are you and why are you here?”

Derek drew himself up to his full height, a not unimpressive five-foot, a good four inches taller than he’d been when Stiles had killed Master Kate. “I’m General Stilinski’s husband.” His heart ticked at that. How could he be a husband when his husband wouldn’t even come home? Wouldn’t even come to him?

“You mean the General’s kept whore.”

Derek flinched at her words. “I’m not a whore,” he said, quietly, defiantly. “When I was the property of the Argent Compound, then I was a kept whore, a prisoner, a victim.” Scott’s word for what he was. “Now, I am a husband, a cultivator, and a survivor.”

Allison scoffed. “You are a murderer and nothing more.”

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Derek protested.

“My aunt,” Allison snapped.

“I didn’t kill Mas—Kate,” he said.

“Don’t you dare say her name!” Allison drew her crossbow, sighting down the shaft of an arrow tipped with wolfsbane.

“Your aunt raped me,” he said, noting the quick flash of disgust that crossed Allison’s features. “She would torture me, rape me, beat me, starve me. I was ten when she stole me away from my family.”

“Kate ran a clean compound,” Allison insisted. “She had the highest marks of any compound in the state.”

It might just be a trick of the acoustics of the woods, but Derek detected a timber of doubt in Allison’s voice. She couldn’t ignore what she had seen that day. A naked boy crying for help, her aunt just as naked, stalking about the room with no concern for who might see.

Not even the annual inspection performed by a man from the capital of the United Coalition of States stopped her. The man, Garrison Myers, had taken the money Kate threw at him with the words, “Think of it as a gift,” as she left the room, to clean up.

Myers usually watched Derek drag himself back to his box, an expression of guilt and pain etched onto his face before Kate came back and Myers gave her the stamped seal of approval.

“She was inspected regularly, and she passed each one perfectly.”

“Was the inspector a man named Garrison Myers?” he asked her, expecting the nod that came. Myers was somewhat famous among the compounds for taking bribes, although Derek thought he only took Kate’s payments. “Your aunt had leverage on him. She manipulated her way into keeping her compound. If you think your aunt was a good person, then you didn’t really know her.”

“You are lying.”

Allison’s heart was beating erratically, a truth she could not grasp. Pieces of a puzzle lining up, slotting into place, and revealing something too horrible to look at directly.

Derek stared her down, feeling nothing, not even pity, for how her world was breaking apart. Kate had already ruined his life once. He wouldn’t let a dead woman keep reaching back into his life now to steal another bit of him. And it was then that he realized he’d let go of her required title. No longer would she be his master. He was finally free of her.

He wouldn’t let this alive-woman hurt him further either.

“This is private property,” he repeated. “Leave now before I call the authorities.” He had no phone, but he knew he could run faster than she could move and he would be able to make it back to Scott’s house before she could attack him.

Allison chose not to call his bluff, stating, “I won’t let you get away with killing my aunt.” She jumped off the far side of the wall and stalked away.

Derek didn’t breathe easy until he could no longer hear or smell her.

Then, he shifted to his beta form and ran to Scott’s house.

~ * ~

Allison wasn’t at Scott’s when Derek made it back, which was a relief. Instead, Scott stared, puzzled, at Derek when he burst into the kitchen, yelling his name.

He was in the middle of steeping tea for supper, and was paused in pouring the sugar. Most of it fell on the table instead of into the pitcher, and Scott shot Derek an annoyed glare as he thumped the sugar-scoop back into its bowl and swept the sugar into his hand to dump it into the pitcher.

“I thought she might come here,” Derek said, as an apology, even though he wasn’t sorry.

“Who?”

Derek searched the room until he found Scott’s phone thrown carelessly onto the counter. He picked it up and showed it to Scott.

“Oh, Allison. Yeah, she’s nice, isn’t she?”

“She’s Kate’s niece.”

Scott stopped moving, and his concern wafted over to choke Derek. “Really?”

The silence of the house was overwhelming, and Derek clenched his fist around the phone. Scott hobbled over to him and pried his fingers free.

“Just because she’s related to Kate, it doesn’t mean that she’s like her.”

“She was there,” Derek said softly. He let Scott take the phone from him, moving to stir the tea. “When Kate would hurt me. Only once, I think, but she didn’t do anything.”

“Could she have?” Scott asked. “Safely, I mean?”

The spoon broke in Derek’s grip. He glared at it before tossing both pieces onto the table. “She wants to kill me because she thinks I killed Kate.”

Scott shrugged. “I mean, I’d probably want to kill whoever murdered my relatives too,” he said.

Derek stared at him in horror. Were those Scott’s true feelings? That Derek deserved to be hunted by Allison because she thought he’d killed her aunt, who in turn had been hurting him before she died? Did it even matter that Stiles was the one who’d killed Kate, not Derek?

“Look, I’m sure if you give her a chance, and explain everything, she’ll come around.”

“You can’t be a werewolf and be with her,” Derek said, to be mean, sure, but it was also true. Allison had smelled of wolfsbane, had arrows coated in it. If Scott was turned, then even being near her would make him ill.

And, Derek knew, given any opportunity, Allison might kill Scott anyway if she realized he had served in the opposing army. She was still in denial about her aunt.

Scott’s phone rang, and he brightened at the name on the screen. “Allison,” he cooed, answering it.

Derek flinched, turning away and marching out of the house. If Scott wanted to sign him away on faith, then he would take his chances. Besides, Stiles was due back tonight for a weeklong stopover before he toured more of the southern colleges.

Maybe he could appeal to his husband, earn his right to travel without Scott.

It had to be better than waiting for Allison to track him down and stick a wolfsbane arrow in his heart.

~ * ~

Stiles skipped out on visiting Scott again.

He’d also thrown down a line of mountain ash around his house for the week while he was there, preventing Derek from reaching him.

It made something inside Derek’s chest shatter. His husband was rejecting him and it hurt. Allison was also hanging around, and she and Scott seemed to be getting along just fine, despite the angry and bitter way she smelled whenever she looked at Scott.

Telling Scott of it had done nothing but net Derek a suspicious glare and a reprimand.

So, he spent his time hiding in the garden, weeding and watering as the heat grew too intense during the day and cooled quickly once the sun was down. He kept a couple of gallon jugs that he filled from a stream deep in the forest buried in a hole by the southwest pole of the garden. He rested often and drank the water, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his stomach from lack of food and the hollow feeling in his chest from lack of affection.

He wished, sometimes, that the council had granted Stiles’ request for annulment because certainly it would be easier on him to be with his family now. But, then he would recall the way Private Ennis had grabbed him at the station and he would be glad for the little protection being Stiles’ husband offered.

A few times, Allison cornered him at the garden, threatening him with her arrows, and a few times too, hardly a coincidence that it usually was shortly after Allison appeared, Isaac would take Derek into town so he could trade some of his ripe vegetables at the stand where a woman, long blonde hair usually pulled into two braided tails, tired brown eyes, and a sharp tongue, always sneaked a few extra peas into Derek’s basket when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

According to Isaac, her name was Erica, and she was waiting on her husband to return from his deployment. He was a soldier, drafted to replace Stiles and Scott’s division, due to be discharged in a few months.

Derek poked at the watermelon vines, wondering if it would do any good to untangle them. He thought not as there were several bulbs sprouted. He was afraid he would dislodge them if he tried to move them.

There were a lot of them, more than either he or Scott could eat, and he wondered what Erica would trade for them. She seemed thrilled with the wild berries Derek brought last time.

Sweets were popular in the town, Erica told him. She’d slipped him what looked like a bland pastry that reminded him of the bagels until he bit it and sweetened cream spilt out of it.

Derek selected a few of the largest watermelons for Scott and himself. And Stiles for when he came home…if he came home. The rest that were ripe, smelled perfect and sounded hollow, like Scott said, when tapped gently, he picked for the market stand.

The beans and peppers each had a decent crop and he filled two ten-gallon pails with them. The tomatoes were just starting to ripen. He could take them next week.

For now, a dozen watermelons and the pails would be plenty to trade for a bit of bread and more of the sweets with cream if Erica had them. He might even have enough to get some butter.

Derek liked the butter because it came from a dairy farm run entirely by werewolves, but it took a lot to trade for it since the town ran on butter, it seemed.

If Stiles was on the train on Friday, they could have cold soup with leftover bread and watermelon slices.

Derek dusted off his hands and used his hand to track the sun across the sky. It would be dark in a couple of hours. Allison would be leaving soon to return to her rented room in town. Derek could go back to Scott, give him the vegetables he’d picked for them, and see if Scott was still thinking about making Derek give Allison another chance.

If Scott even mentioned Allison, Derek was rescinding his offer to have his mother be the alpha who would bite Scott. He would spend all his days avoiding Scott, and Scott would have to learn to live with the constant pain again. The tissue was dying, and Derek knew he’d have to tell Scott.

But, Allison wasn’t around when Derek made it back to Scott’s house.

“Thank you,” Scott said stiltedly when Derek put the watermelon on the kitchen counter. “If you could?” He held out his hand, and Derek drew some of his pain.

Scott smiled, endorphins helping Derek as he closed his fingers around Scott’s hand, counting to ten in his head twice before he let go.

“We’ll have supper in a while,” Scott said. “Stiles forgot to break the ash line before he left, so I’ll have to help you later. For now, the yard needs trimming.”

Every three weeks, the enclosed yard of Scott’s house needed mowing, as Scott called it. Derek did the yard around Stiles’ house every four or five weeks, usually right before Stiles managed to come home and lock him out again.

Derek helped Scott out to the chair on the porch, leaning his crutches in easy reach against the wall behind him.

Then, he opened the little shed next to the house and retrieved the trimmer. It was a single cylinder with wound strips of sharp metal sticking off it. The ends of the cylinder were connected to two poles that supported a crossbar. Derek held the crossbar and started pushing the contraption while Scott watched. As always, it took a bit of adjusting before Derek was mowing steadily without leaving the grass too long or gouging swaths of soil as he went.

When he was done mowing and had moved on to raking the clippings, Scott talked to him about Stiles’ trip and why he might have forgotten the ash line. The words sounded like excuses and apologies for a problem that wasn’t Scott’s to fix. Derek shrugged as if it didn’t bother him that his husband had denied him the peace and safety of a haven. There was a solution to that end: Stiles needed to stop ignoring Derek.

If he came home, and that was a becoming a very big if the more tours Stiles went on, then Derek could talk to him about the house, about his feelings of betrayal, and about Stiles either giving up the tour or Derek going with him.

However, Stiles wasn’t coming home today, and he would not be back at all this week and maybe not even the next week either. The tour had taken him south, close to the border with Mexico, where Kate’s compound had stood.

According to Scott, it was a long way down to the southern colleges. Derek thought a hundred miles was a long way. Scott laughed and said where Stiles was going was nearly seven hundred miles from Beacon Hills.

Derek asked, “Is that why he travels by train?”

“Not entirely,” Scott answered, directing Derek on where to put the lawn clippings. Sometimes, Scott wanted the clippings put either into the compost pile or onto the burn pile. The pattern was random, and Derek hated it. Scott was likely to mope for the rest of the day if Derek did the wrong thing.

Today, the clippings were destined for the compost pile, and Derek dumped the wheeled bin he used to transport the clippings, dragging it and the trimmer back into the shed. Then, he helped Scott into the kitchen, draining his pain again so that Scott could hobble about and throw together a light salad with the beans and peppers with glasses of the sweet tea he’d made yesterday.

They ate out on the porch steps, watching the sun sink lower until it was swallowed by the rise of the valley in which their town was nestled.

Scott explained why Stiles rode trains instead of having someone like Isaac drive him around. “The council has agreed to reimburse Stiles for all his travel costs as long as he completes the tours. Plus, the colleges where he speaks give him a bit of a fee to help him since his army rations have been redirected into covering the costs of his traveling. Also, he wants to save up some money so that he can help the cause even if he’s no longer an active service member.”

Derek bit his tongue to keep the questions inside, like why Stiles wanted to help the place that had used him and kicked him out as soon as it made them uncomfortable to acknowledge what he had done for them.

He wondered if Scott had killed as many people as Stiles had.

Neither of them seemed to be seeking help for their PTSD despite lecturing each other whenever they managed to be in the same room for longer than fifteen minutes of awkward silence.

A question about murder would certainly make Scott sad; morose Allison called it when she came for visits and Derek was still in the house.

Derek wanted to learn more of the alpha-beta instead of worrying about whether what he said or did was making Scott worse. He brought Scott a stick, offering it to him.

“What’s this?” Scott ran his thumb over the blunted edge of the stick. “Do you play fetch?”

For some reason, that made Derek growl at Scott. They stared at each other unblinking until Derek dropped his gaze to his dirty, grass-stained bare feet.

For a few more moments, Scott studied him, regarding him with a quiet sense of wonder. Abruptly, he stood, reaching a hand out to Derek. “I am sorry,” he said. “I haven’t been a good caretaker for you. Come, it’s time to rest. We will take what you’ve gathered to the market tomorrow.”

“Can we trade for writing sticks and empty ration papers to write on?” Erica had writing sticks and empty ration papers. She would make little marks on the empty papers, marking off what she sold and what someone gave her for it. She’d showed Derek his own name, but he didn’t understand the words underneath it.

“Paper and pencils?” Scott laughed, but it sounded off, a thread of fear running through his scent. Why? What was so frightening about Derek asking for those things? “Yeah, sure, if we can find some. I mean, I was only planning on going as far as Erica’s stand, okay?” He tapped his crutch against the floor before asking, “Is it okay if Isaac takes you?” He gestured to his leg. “This has been acting up lately. I don’t think I can do more than the market tomorrow.”

Derek nodded. “That’s because it’s decaying.”

Scott stopped moving and stared down at his leg in horror. “What?” he said faintly.

“Your hand too,” Derek added. “The tissue is dying faster than the rest of you. If you don’t receive the bite soon, you might not recover. And, if you don’t get the bite at all, you’ll lose both your hand and your leg.”

“Fantastic,” Scott muttered under his breath. He still looked horrified, pale and sick. “That’s just great. Fucking great. I thought I had more time.”

“I did too,” Derek said.

“Awesome. So, we’ll have to go to market so that we can trade as much produce as we can to stock up on nonperishables. I’ll call Isaac and have him bring the limousine around so that we can take more things. We need to be up early to pack the car.” He clenched his bad hand, wincing at the pull of tendons. “I could really lose this, huh?”

“Yes,” Derek said. He saw no point in lying to Scott. Doing so would only increase the likelihood that he _would_ lose his appendages.

“Is the bite really the only thing that can save me?”

“How is medicine?” Being a werewolf had its advantages like not needing hospitals or medicines to heal—and its disadvantages since that was the cause of their imprisonment and the root of most of their torture. It also meant they were susceptible to modified diseases like distemper, which had almost wiped out Kate’s compound when Derek was ten years old.

“It’s been stagnated since the beginning of the hunter regime. They focused most of their research on weaponry designed to kill supernatural creatures.”

“But, it’s rather easy to kill us.” Derek frowned. “Just use mistletoe or wolfsbane or something made from mountain ash.” Kate had admitted that the distemper had been cut with a strain of wolfsbane in order to make it more effective. It was her way of ensuring that she got what she wanted. “High powered bullets work too, but not as effectively.”

Derek would know because Kate liked to test her new guns on him. He had survived a shot to the face from a large caliber handgun but had almost died when she fed him a single berry from a sprig of mistletoe.

He had once seen an execution of a werewolf accused of stealing from her human captors. She had been shot with bullets unaffected by anything, and when that had failed, she was cut in half using a large sword. Afterward, Kate had removed her head, carrying it back to show Derek where the light was fading from her eyes. And still, Kate had had to burn the pieces of the werewolf’s body to ensure that no one would raise her.

Derek swallowed back the bile the memory brought up. It would do him no good to be ill in Scott’s house and over something that had happened so long ago.

Scott’s face twisted with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Derek nodded, unsure if he could even open his mouth; the threat of vomiting had not yet abated.

“We shouldn’t talk of killing anymore,” Scott said. He looked like he wanted to be ill too. Derek was reminded that before his injuries, Scott had been a soldier as Stiles had been. They both had seen their share of death. Hunters did not give up easily even if they were easily killed.

“We really need to go to bed now if we’re to go to market as soon as possible. I want to leave for your parents’ home within the week.” Scott glanced around at his house. “I just…I don’t know that I’m ready for the bite, you know?” he said. “What happens if it doesn’t take?”

“You die.”

“Lose my hand and leg or die.” Scott sighed. “That’s not much of a choice.”

“It isn’t if losing your hand and leg won’t kill you,” Derek pointed out. “If you have as much of a chance of dying from the infection as you do from the bite, then why not get the bite?”

Scott looked down at his hand again. “Not much of a choice at all,” he whispered, using his other hand to massage it open. Immediately, it curled again, fingers useless. “I’d get this back,” he said, stronger, with more conviction. “I could walk again.”

“You wouldn’t be in pain anymore.”

“No more pain.”

“You’ll be a werewolf,” Derek reminded him. “Allison…”

“Allison?” Scott turned to him, puzzled. “What does Allison have to do with my decision?”

“She carries wolfsbane.” Scott didn’t look like he believed him—what was new?—but the information this time seemed to give him pause. Yeah, Derek wanted to tell him. If Scott was a werewolf, he wouldn’t be able to be near Allison without the threat of her killing him becoming very apparent.

“This discussion is not over,” Scott said, checking his phone for the time. “Not by a long shot. We just have a lot to do right now, so it’s time to go to bed. I’ll break the ash line around Stiles’ house in the morning so that you can pack some clothes for the trip we’ll be taking.”

He used his crutches to start up the stairs.

Derek let him go ahead, keeping an ear out in case he stumbled or needed help. Once Scott was safely in his room, Derek slipped down into the basement and dragged the trunk out from under the table where Stiles had stashed it a few months ago. He dusted it off, letting it air a bit while he gathered a few blankets and a pillow.

It still smelled musty, like the old papers it used to hold, but that was comforting to Derek because underneath that, it smelled like Stiles.

Derek knuckled down the ache in his heart and pressed his face into the corner that held the strongest trace of the scent.

Sleep did not come easy.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: the first three comments on [Scattered Like Lines on a Black and White Screen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14212635/chapters/32764842) can prompt me at [my Tumblr](https://1989dreamer.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks to all who read, kudos, comment, bookmark, and subscribe. I am absolutely blown away by the response to this story. A big and happy Thank You to all.


	9. Six

~ * ~

Stiles opened his briefcase only to stare morosely down at the photograph Scott had pinned to the inside flap.

Derek, hoe in hand, dirt smudged over one cheek, mouth red as the berries Stiles could see in the pail at his feet.

If only he wasn’t on this stupid tour, he could be there, watching Derek grow and learn.

No one at the council would take his calls, so he hadn’t yet found Derek’s family’s post code or phone number. He couldn’t face the boy with his broken promise.

It’d been months now. The mid-California colleges requiring more nuanced stops. The different colleges and universities having different ideals even if they were next door to each other.

Stiles shook his head, staring down at the photograph again. He smiled at the way Derek’s eyes sparkled in the picture. The first few Scott had sent, there been a weird lens flare, which Stiles imagined came from the fact that Derek was a werewolf with low-light vision.

There had been many changes since the first day Stiles had found Derek.

Already he had lost his thin face and weakened body. Now, he was taller, stronger, tanned, and hard working.

It was almost easy to forget that he _wasn’t_ thirteen, which made Stiles all the more nervous whenever he happened to find himself around Derek, much less _alone_ with the boy.

Scott sent updates as often as he could when Stiles was on the road, but it wasn’t the same as being at home. Lately, to protect Derek from himself, Stiles had taken to throwing down a line of ash around his house. It was effective, but then Scott lectured him about the abandonment Derek was suffering in the letters in between the glowing praise for his husband.

Stiles caressed the photo, studying Derek in detail, thinking he’d never grow tired of seeing the health clinging to the boy’s body. He was still shorter than Stiles. His hair was long again, in need of a decent trim, and his eyes were greener than Stiles recalled. His cheeks were ruddy, lips wind-chapped. Stiles would have to remind Scott to give Derek a small tin of wax for that.

He would also have to see about sending home some of his traveling funds so that Scott could purchase clothing for Derek and his changing body. The boy was always barefoot in the pictures Scott sent, so shoes were a mandatory purchase. Clothes, food, shoes, wages. Certainly Derek couldn’t be expected to work in the gardens without compensation.

Although, perhaps working in the garden was Derek’s trade for food. It made Stiles feel inadequate all over again since he was neither providing physical care nor emotional care for his husband. Instead, all he wanted to do was be at home so that he could see Derek grow up in front of his eyes instead of in photographs.

He flushed as he thought of what Derek might feel like in his arms, with his new muscle.

Good God, he was no better than those soldiers who wanted the boy for a sex slave.

Derek really was safer with Stiles gone or locked away in his house.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice interrupted his musings, and Stiles snapped the briefcase closed, turning to the newcomer with a forced smile.

“Yes?” he inquired politely.

“Is this seat taken?” The woman standing in the aisle nodded at the bench across from Stiles.

“No, it’s free.” Stiles shifted in so that she could slip onto it unhindered. She slid a dingy red backpack with frayed straps off and set it next to her with a fond pat to its scarred front.

He studied her face, eyeing the knowing wrinkles around her eyes, the way her hair was sprinkled with silver threads. She looked young, perhaps his age, but he knew that wasn’t true.

“You’re a kitsune,” he said softly. She could easily be a hundred years old. She was of Japanese descent. Possibly Korean too, as her eyes were slightly smaller than they would otherwise be. What she was doing in California was a mystery since even with the liberation of the hunters’ compounds, there had been no kitsune supernaturals in any of the prisoners.

She nodded in affirmation, offering, “And you are an assassin.”

He settled back in his chair. No one had called him an assassin. Instead, they referred to him as a “man of the shadows,” the “one to call when nothing else works,” the “cleaner.”

Stiles wasn’t ashamed of what he had done for his country. He had killed a lot of bad people. His country was ashamed of him. There was no other reason for his immediate dismissal from the Rebel Alliance.

“I need to know where you stand on the reuniting front,” the kitsune said.

“Reuniting is not an option,” Stiles said. “Not at this time. Not until all the hunters and their followers have been eradicated. There is no room in the Freed Republic of California for their bigotry.”

“People said the same thing of slavery.”

“And they were right. To leave things as the status quo is the quickest way to ensure atrophy. Nothing is more deadly to a country, even one as prolific as the United Coalition of States.”

“Well said, Mr. Stilinski.”

“It’s General,” he corrected. At her amused smile, he flushed. “And you are?”

“Kira Yuikmura,” the kitsune said. “My father, Ken Yukimura drafted the constitution that the council is trying to approve. My mother, Noshiko Yukimura, was one of the first supernaturals to fight for the Freed Republic.”

“My father founded the Rebel Alliance which was the precursor to the current army.”

“So, we’re royalty,” Kira concluded. “Why then were we not married? Why did you choose a child-bride that perpetuates the very thing you fought against?”

“I did not see you at the ceremony,” Stiles said, “so I don’t expect you to have all the facts of the why. I did not marry Derek to become another one of his abusers; I married him to save him.”

Kira shook her head. “He would have been safe with his family. He should have been with them when they were relocated.”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to shake his head. “He wouldn’t have made it.” He sighed, setting his briefcase next to him and leaning forward. Kira leaned forward too. “When I stayed in the San Bernardino barracks, there were no less than seven soldiers that were plotting how to steal Derek away before transport. Now, they could have shifted their attention to the other children of the Hale pack, but the language used referred to the ‘Argent’s Whore.’ Only one child had been sexually attacked by Kate Argent.”

“Derek Hale,” Kira breathed. “Did you report the soldiers’ behavior?”

Affronted, Stiles glared at her. “Of course I did. There were no consequences meted that I could ascertain.”

“Which led to the marriage?”

Stiles nodded.

“And how is your husband?”

“Flourishing. My long-time friend, Scott McCall took him back to our hometown to settle.”

“And why not you?”

Stiles shrugged. “People don’t see a hero when they look at Scott. Instead, they feel uncomfortable. He was badly injured during a firefight. His leg is mangled and his right hand is all but useless. Tasks that we think nothing of are difficult for him.” Stiles gestured at his body. “I am still in one piece. I may have more scars now, but I can still walk and talk, and now they have me touring the universities, rooting out hunter-supporters while providing first-hand accounts of why we need to fight the specisim that comes from enslaving another genus of homo sapiens.”

“And what does your husband think of being left home alone while you travel?” Kira asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Stiles answered honestly. “I haven’t asked.” He knew that Derek wanted to visit his family. Hell, Stiles had given him the go-ahead. He was afraid though that once Derek spent time down in Chula Vista, where the Hale pack had been granted a parcel of land to farm, as a way to both repay reparations and allow them to integrate into society again, he would not want to stay with Stiles. The fact that he wanted Derek to choose with him was not one he accepted kindly.

The annulment weighed heavy on his mind. If at the end of this year, Derek sought approval from the council to fulfill the request of annulment, then Stiles knew he would let the boy go. And much as he tried to convince himself that he was Derek’s protector, the fact that he had been home very little over the last few months was evidence enough that he was failing in his duties as a husband. He would be lucky if Derek did not report him to the council. Perhaps the threat of Eichen House was all that stood between them now.

He was also terrified that if Derek chose not to annul their marriage, he still would refuse Stiles. As was his right as a citizen. His right as Stiles’ husband.

Derek was pure, innocent, a treasure to be protected. The fact that he had been tarred with a heavy brush was not his fault nor did Stiles hold it against him.

Stiles sighed, rubbing at his face. These thoughts did nothing but make his heart hurt.

“You should,” Kira said, and Stiles dropped his hands so he could stare at her. “Ask him, I mean. Werewolves need contact with their packs. If Derek hasn’t seen his family since they were moved, then he is likely suffering.”

Stiles smoothed a hand down his pant leg, picking at the lint balls he could feel under his fingers. “Scott keeps me updated on Derek’s progress. There has been no dissent on Derek’s part.”

“But maybe that’s because Scott doesn’t know what to look for,” Kira pointed out. She dug into her backpack, pulling out a pad of paper and a thin pen. She scribbled something onto it and tore it out. “This is my number. Contact me as soon as possible and I’ll try to teach you everything I know about werewolves.”

She stood up, offering her hand to him. He shook it quickly. As soon as he dropped her hand, she spun on her heel and marched away.

When she reached the door to the next carriage, she turned back.

“It was nice to meet you, General,” she said, and then she was gone.

Stiles’ thoughts were too scattered to do much else than open his briefcase again, put Kira’s note into a hidden pocket, and study Derek’s picture again.

He was exhausted. So tired of this life. Perhaps it was time to go home, to check on his husband and his friend. Maybe take a trip with Derek to visit his family’s farm.

Wasn’t Scott going to get the bite soon? Stiles could go with them.

Using his thumb, he brushed a speck of dust from the photograph, imagining what it would be like to see Derek again. Would they embrace? Stare at each other awkwardly? Kiss? Would his resolve stand strong enough to not hurt the boy?

Stiles tore his eyes from the photograph and stared out at the passing landscape.

This, he decided, would be his last lecture.

His husband needed him more than his country.

His husband would appreciate him more.

~ * ~

Stiles stuck his hand out, wrestling the professor’s hand down from her salute to shake it.

“Welcome,” she said, breathlessly. She pushed her glasses up her nose and tittered. Great. She was one of the hero-lovers. This far down in the Republic, the likelihood of having hunter sympathizers in the lectures was more likely. For some reason, even though there had been several more towns like Redding, emptied and then burned to the ground, the hunter sympathizers hadn’t learned to shut up yet. If anything, they had become more vocal. Stiles hated southern California. It was too hot and there were too many people crowded down here. Not enough resources or labor to go around and still the colleges somehow survived.

While the students had been the loudest dissenters, Stiles often found that the teachers, like this one, romanticized what he had done as a soldier. He doubted any of them knew he had been the assassin, as Kira had called him.

If only they knew the true cost of being a soldier. He was certain no one wanted to wake up next to him as he had an episode.

He shook it off as best he could, putting on as genuine of a smile as he could. There would always be people like this professor.

“It’s wonderful to be here,” Stiles said honestly. It was nice to be back in Pasadena. The San Bernardino barracks were less than an hour away and he had had drills in Pasadena almost every week. In spite of that, Stiles desperately wished he didn’t have to spend all his time on campus.

He would like to explore the town a bit, visit the church where his father had performed his first assignment.

Maybe, he thought, he could even buy a souvenir for Derek. He had been collecting a whole box of letters and trinkets, things that reminded him of his husband, that he had encountered on his travels.

So far, from the various colleges, Stiles had gathered: mugs, t-shirts, and stuffed cloth mascots. Less commonly, he had found stones the color of Derek’s eyes, a carved wolf from a pack close to the Arizona border, and swathes of cloth with intricate woven patterns.

There were so many things that Stiles wanted to show Derek. He had all the pictures Scott sent but hadn’t yet found the courage to send anything himself.

It made him a larger coward than hiding behind the empty reason for marrying Derek. It did not matter that Stiles would not hurt the boy in that carnal way; he was still as repugnant as the soldiers. He had already inflicted damage upon Derek that he could not undo.

Stiles blinked, focusing again on the students before him. “Shall I begin, or did you want to start with questions?” he asked the professor.

“Questions!” one of the students, a young woman with flame-red hair and inquisitive eyes shouted. She was backed immediately by half the class.

“Questions it is,” Stiles agreed, settling onto the professor’s desk. Later, after this lecture, he would go to the auditorium and speak to the whole campus. For now, though, Stiles preferred this intimacy he was not often afforded.

“Why did you marry that kid?” some gangly teen with a large nose and dyed blue eyebrows yelled.

The redhead in the front row rolled her eyes.

“If you’re going to ask a stupid question,” she said, “ask something like, how tall are you? Are you really going gray? What was it like taking down the largest purveyor of werewolves? Why not ask something more worthwhile. Like, what can I do for this new nation? What are the economic ramifications from freeing the supernatural beings? What is the motivation to keep improving ourselves for the future? What can we do to help our less fortunate brethren?”

The professor—and Stiles really needed to get her name again so that he could stop calling her that—glared at the redhead.

“That is enough, Ms. Martin,” she snapped. “Unless you actually have something to say, you are not welcome in my class again.”

“Gladly, Mrs. Patterson.” The redhead slammed her book shut, shoving it into an oversized purse stamped with a full moon pattern. She stood up, tugging at her short skirt and straightening her blouse before flipping her hair over her shoulder and marching for the door.

“Wait,” Stiles called. Ms. Martin paused.

“The best thing you can do for the country of California is learn a trade, whether that’s a physically demanding trade like metal smith or textile or farming or an emotionally demanding trade like legal work or historian. That’s not to say that whatever profession you choose won’t be both physically and emotionally demanding. That’s always a possibility.”

Ms. Martin regarded him with an assessing stare, pursing her lips in thoughtfulness. After a moment, she asked, “Why did you marry that boy?”

Stiles sighed. “I’m sure by now you’ve heard the rumors about Barrack Fifteen in San Bernardino.”

The class nodded.

“He was in very real danger of being abducted and sold into sexual slavery. If I hadn’t married him, he would not be recovering right now. Instead, he would probably be dead.” Stiles’ fingers twitched, a sure sign that his body at least thought he was lying. Ms. Martin raised an eyebrow at him, and he fought the blush he could feel climbing his neck.

“Could sex worker be a useful trade?” Blue Eyebrows asked, and Stiles pointed at him.

“There will always be prostitution,” he said. “Legally, no. I would hope not. If you’re talking about sex trafficking, then I hate to tell you but you’ll have no job.”

“How can that be enforced?” Ms. Martin asked.

“With a diligent task force.”

After a brief silence, Stiles said, “The economic ramifications of freeing the supernaturals has two outcomes. The first: we just freed a group of oppressed people who were not taught life skills or trades. Hell, most of them weren’t even taught how to read or write. They will need to be supported, fed, housed, cared for.”

“A drain,” someone from the back of the room said. Stiles glared in his general direction.

“If you want to think like a hunter, then yes. But, remember, it’s also the hunters’ fault that you want to consider them a drain.”

“What’s the second outcome?” Ms. Martin prompted.

Stiles nodded at her gratefully. “The second outcome, and the one that I have noticed more frequently, is that if the supernaturals are taught those life skills, they can contribute to their own care. If you truly want to help the supernatural beings, become a teacher. Train them in those trades that you learn. Help them help themselves.”

Stiles checked his watch, noting with relief that he was due in the auditorium in fifteen minutes.

“If you excuse me,” he said to the class. “I have somewhere I need to be.”

As he exited the room, Ms. Martin holding the door for him and then following him out, he heard the professor, Mrs. Patterson, say, “Don’t forget to join us in the auditorium for the rest of General Stilinski’s lecture.”

The door shut over the groans of the remaining students. Stiles leaned against the wall to collect himself, rubbing at his eyes and re-tightening his tie.

“General?” Ms. Martin said.

“Hmm?” Stiles didn’t open his eyes.

“Do you really believe that you were saving that boy when you married him?”

Stiles shrugged. “At the time I did,” he said. “Now? I don’t know. I honestly do think he would have been abducted before he could be transferred to the land his family was granted. But, what I’ve done to him, keeping him from his family, from his pack, is damaging to him too.”

“I know all about pack bonds,” Ms. Martin said. She glanced around, furtive, before digging something out of her skirt’s pocket. She handed him a card. Red cardstock with thick, black lettering.

Lydia Martin, ambassador, it read.

Stiles put it in his wallet.

“I would like to speak with you further, General. If you are amendable.”

“I am,” Stiles said. “Thank you for standing up in there. Thank you for asking the questions no one else has.”

Lydia nodded. “Thank you for answering them.”

She walked off just as the door opened and Mrs. Patterson’s class spilled out into the hallway. Stiles ducked away before Blue Eyebrows or Hunter Wannabe could find him.

He hoped his lecture went well. With more students like Lydia Martin, it would.

~ * ~

At the end of the lecture, Stiles devoted about half an hour to another question and answer session, and Blue Eyebrows and Hunter Wannabe dominated the time, rapid firing questions that were stupider than anything the class had asked. Stiles lost patience quickly, snapping his answers until he caught sight of Lydia halfway down the wall, leaning back with one foot braced on the wall, her arms crossed over her chest.

Stiles squared his shoulders and, when Blue Eyebrows asked yet again about the feasibility of prostitution in the new country, he said, “If you can design a working proposal that does not include the exploitation of another, there’s nothing stopping you from going before the council.”

Hunter Wannabe opened his mouth, but before he could spew more drivel, Lydia stalked forward. She slapped a hand onto the desk of the front row, fixing Stiles with a steady stare. “Do you think the Free Republic of California has the resources to survive an assault from the bordering states?”

“Considering the immediate border states are not sympathetic to the hunters’ cause, yes, I do believe that the Free Republic currently has enough resources to survive any future assaults from other states.”

Stiles paused to take a drink of water. He’d taken a sealed bottle from the dean, testing it for additives, like poison, with a kit he kept in his briefcase. When the water stayed clear, he knew it was safe to drink.

As he sipped, he studied the gathered students. Most of them looked bored with the exception of Mrs. Patterson’s class. Blue Eyebrows and Hunter Wannabe were conferring, heads together. Stiles wished he could make an example of them, but he knew there would be retaliation for attacking any students “unprovoked.”

Before he began again, a courier entered the auditorium. The young man scanned the crowd, eyes catching on Stiles.

“General Stilinski?” he called.

Stiles nodded.

“This is for you.” He shoved a clipboard at Stiles. “Sign here.” Stiles did, clicking the pen a few times before scribbling his signature. As soon as he handed the clipboard back to the courier, he dug a sealed envelope from his bag and handed it to Stiles. “Good luck, sir.” He saluted Stiles, and Stiles barely had time to return the gesture before the courier was gone, the auditorium doors slamming shut behind him.

Stiles clutched the envelope, studying the faces in front of him. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t be subjected to more stupid questions from a generation raised on the hunter rule. There were kids like Lydia Martin who would be the salvation, but Stiles wouldn’t reach the ones he needed to down here. The only kids with enough clout to attend the colleges here, especially Cal Tech, were either the hunters’ progeny or the families that managed to hold onto their wealth through the two wars.

“I’ll take three more questions,” Stiles said, “from anyone except you two jackanapes. Make them count.”

A woman in a tank top with the university’s name on it raised her hand. Stiles nodded at her.

“You were discharged honorably,” she said. Stiles nodded again. “Why are you touring only colleges? Wouldn’t you have more of an impact at high schools?” Stiles had often wondered the same thing too.

“I’m not considered enough of a people person,” Stiles joked before sobering quickly. “I worked as an assassin during the war.” He paused to let that sink in.

“Yes, I was the one who killed Kate Argent.” Why that had never been classified, Stiles could only guess. “The higher ups who assigned this tour to me did not want me talking to impressionable children who wouldn’t hear about the socioeconomic fallout but about the blood and gore. The army doesn’t need more assassins, hence why I’m not still serving. They need teachers, engineers, trades people. These are the people that will rebuild society when it’s broken.”

The woman raised her hand again. “Where do you fit in this new society?”

“I don’t,” Stiles said simply. “And I won’t unless we need a soldier trained to decimate a governmental body. I hope we don’t. One more question.”

Lydia raised her hand. “Where do the supernaturals fit?”

Stiles looked around the room, noting the sneers of disgust on Blue Eyebrows and Hunter Wannabe’s faces, the dispassionate stares of the others. “Wherever they fit is where they fit. They sure as hell fit a lot better than a washed up solider drummed out of the army because he killed too many people.”

Stiles marched past the rows of staring students, head held high. The Republic may not have wanted him, but that didn’t mean that Stiles couldn’t want himself and want to do better than lecturing to a demographic that had already been divided into factions. He _would_ have more impact with high schoolers, but high schoolers had to live with their parents who were the ones to decide if Stiles was too radical for their children to listen to.

He ignored the angry whispers that took up around him as he made his escape.

Outside, he tore into the envelope, pulling out three sheets of pressed paper. He scanned them, keeping an eye on the auditorium to make sure no one had followed him. The signature on the last page gave him pause.

Kira Yukimura from the train this morning.

The letter was mostly empty noise, trivialities that made no sense. Then, at the bottom, a symbol, one Stiles thought he would never see again: a cross tucked inside a triangle with a circle around both of them. It was the mark of the Rebel Alliance. It meant that the letter was in code.

Stiles tucked it back into the envelope and then stashed it in his bag.

Kira must have served to have been taught the code. In the interest of avoiding prying eyes, Stiles made his way to the hotel where he had been placed for this leg of the tour.

A quick sweep of the room turned up no listening devices or out of place items. Stiles still set the shower on full blast and used a portable light he kept in his bag.

Three pages held three messages.

The first revealed that there was a spy in the midst of the classes here. The unassuming woman who’d asked about his tours. Apparently, she was a hunter-plant. Blue Eyebrows and Hunter Wannabe were just products of their parents.

The second revealed that the new army of the Free Republic was aware of her. Stiles frowned. What was the point of telling him about her? Was he supposed to keep an eye on her and track how many times she showed up at his lectures? Why not tell him before he’d started on this tour?

And finally, the third page had an address and a request to meet there. It was a café that he recalled passing on his way from the campus to the hotel.

Stiles checked his watch. He had a good fifteen minutes to get there. Fifteen minutes was plenty of time to get down there, case the place, and stake it out. Make sure it was actually Kira who was meeting him and not the hunter-plant.

~ * ~

Stiles had just finished his first cup of coffee when Kira entered the café, the same dingy backpack hanging off her shoulder. She sat across from him, studying him with an unsettling quiet. He tolerated it for a few minutes before he signaled to the waiter for a refill. Kira ordered a small cup of milk.

“Good for the bones,” she said to his raised eyebrow.

“Expensive,” he commented.

“And coffee isn’t?” she countered.

“Real coffee is,” he said. “This isn’t real coffee. This is brewed from the chicory root.”

“And does it taste like coffee?”

Stiles shrugged. “I’ve never had real coffee. It works. Doesn’t have the caffeine that coffee does.”

The waiter returned with their drinks, and Kira waited until she was a few tables away, chatting up the customers there before she opened her bag and pulled out a dossier. She passed it to Stiles and he flipped it open.

Photographs, redacted information, names of people Stiles knew. Some alive, most dead. Most killed by his hand.

“Is this an assignment?” he asked.

“Not an official one,” Kira said. “There’s a group of ex-Rebel Alliance members who formed a task force. We go behind enemy lines and rescue people.”

Stiles tapped the picture of Kate Argent. “Why is she on here? She’s dead.” Her head was buried in a separate box from the rest of her body, a favor granted to Stiles by the gravedigger.

“You know why she’s there,” Kira said. “The journal.”

Stiles leaned back in his chair. The journal had gone missing within hours of Kate’s death. It was assumed that her father, Gerard Argent, a proprietor of a large compound somewhere in Idaho, had stolen it when he attempted to claim Kate’s body.

“You’ve located Gerard’s compound?”

Kira shook her head. “We have discovered, however, that he enjoys the company of young, nubile women. He visits these women for several days at a time. It wouldn’t take much to divert him and discover valuable information from him.”

“Why me?”

“Our surveillance has revealed that Gerard travels with various technological and biological detectors. Most of the members of our task force are supernaturals or have large bounties on their heads. You, General, are a relative unknown, despite the publicity stunt the council pulled with your wedding. You’d be able to infiltrate, get close to Gerard, much easier than any of us could.”

“What about my tour?”

“Canceled or postponed. General, with all—”

“Stiles, please.”

Kira nodded. “Stiles, with all due respect, this isn’t you. Traveling around California and lecturing people you don’t have much of an effect on. You know this mission is a way to help your country, to help your husband. You can’t turn it down just because you think you’ve been discarded.”

“Haven’t I, though?” Stiles asked bitterly. “Hasn’t my country decided that they don’t need me where I would best serve them? Haven’t they chosen to assign me to this Godforsaken trip with no security, straight into hunter-sympathetic territory? What makes your organization any better than the government?”

“Because, once you’ve done this one task, we won’t ever bother you again unless you decide that you want to join us.” Kira drained her milk, using a cloth napkin dug out from a pocket to wipe at the residue on her lips. “I’ll be staying at the same hotel as you for tonight. You have before the train tomorrow morning to let me know your decision.” She plucked the dossier from Stiles’ hands and shoved it back in her bag.

Then, she stuck him with the bill. Stiles grit his teeth as he peeled off a few slips of rations to cover the coffee and the milk. He groused all the way across the street to a bar he thought looked interesting.

If he did say yes to Kira’s mission, he wanted a damn good reason why he didn’t just say fuck it and go home to his husband.

The bar was packed with students, and Stiles ignored all of them in favor of ordering a stout beer, wincing at the amount of rations he had to hand over.

As he settled in at a table, eyeing the crowd with feigned disinterest, he noticed someone approaching him.

Lydia Martin climbed onto the seat next to him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she said, crossing her legs and reaching for the beer Stiles had yet to taste.

“Uh, no,” he said, drawing it closer to him. “This is mine. Go get your own.”

“Fine. Watch my purse.” She thumped it down onto his lap, and reflexively he grabbed it. Without so much as a thank you, she flounced off. Stiles shrugged sipping at his beer. He swallowed the bitter mouthful and shoved it away from himself.

Lydia returned with something brightly colored and fruity-smelling. Stiles watched her sipping at it.

After she was halfway done, she took her purse back. “So, I bet you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“Not really.” Stiles glanced away from her, studying the room. No one was paying any attention to them, but Stiles still felt a prickle on the back of his neck like someone was watching him.

He picked up his drink but couldn’t force himself to take another pull. Lydia smirked down into her drink, and Stiles grumbled as he passed it to her. “Why are you here?” he asked when she stayed silent.

“I was inspired by your lecture,” she said dryly.

Stiles snorted.

“Actually, I wanted to know if you knew what I am.”

Stiles didn’t answer.

“I’m a banshee. I can sense the otherworld, the passed on world. Sometimes, I get glimpses of the future.”

“And what do you see in my past or future?”

“Death. You reek of it.” She finished her drink and started on his. “There’s a lot of death in your past and more in your future, but there is also something else, an undercurrent of life. Whatever death is left in your future, it will be tempered by life.” She reached into her purse and dropped something small and metallic into his hand. “Follow your heart.”

She hopped down and headed for the bar, leaving Stiles staring down at the coin she’d handed him. The back was stamped with a howling wolf head with a strange symbol above it: three spirals curving out from a singular point. On the front were the faces of a man and woman. Stiles thought he should recognize them, but it escaped him at the moment.

He slid the coin into his pocket where it weighed heavy, like a secret he wasn’t supposed to carry. It was his now, like the mission Kira had assigned him. He would do this, return to his husband, and travel with him to his family where hopefully, they could seek an annulment. Stiles was not willing to subject Derek to life married to him. It was not fair to either of them, not the least of which was Lydia’s prediction that death followed Stiles.

Kira was in the hallway by Stiles’ door when he arrived back at his room. She looked at him, and he felt stripped bare. She nodded sharply.

“We leave on the first train,” she told him, disappearing into the room next to his.

Stiles unlocked his door, relocking it behind him, and stumbling toward the bed. He was too tired to undress, and instead flopped face first onto the bed. Within minutes, he was asleep.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:** the character who died at Eichen House has been changed from Harley to Heather. The reason is a personal preference for a later plot. Thank you.
> 
> If you notice any inconsistencies in the story (plot holes, if you will), please let me know. I'm doing my best to fix them myself, but another pair of eyes is always welcome. Thanks!


	10. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think I've forgotten a tag, please let me know.

~ * ~

It was still dark out when Isaac stopped by. He looked tired, with purple marks under his eyes. He smelled hurt, moved like it too.

Derek was making breakfast before Scott woke up.

He offered Isaac a plate of toast with lumpy pancakes. Neither of them pretended that his stomach wasn’t growling. Isaac sat gingerly, eating slowly as Derek kept making more pancakes. Eventually, he ran out of batter and turned the stovetop off.

“I’m going to get Scott. Once we’ve eaten, we’ll go down to the garden.”

Derek half-expected Isaac to be gone by the time he had Scott mobile. But, Isaac was still sitting at the table, picking at a poorly cooked pancake.

Scott groaned as he took his seat, and Derek brushed his hand across his back, drawing pain out. “Hmm,” Scott said after the first bite. “Maybe I’ll teach you how to mix the batter next time so that you won’t have this problem.” He still ate everything on his plate.

Derek didn’t think the pancakes were bad…if the lumps of flour were avoided.

It was still food, and between the three of them, they ate it all.

Derek washed the dishes while Scott directed Isaac in collecting baskets and the trunk Derek had slept in again last night.

Into it, Scott packed a few changes of clothing. He sent Isaac to Stiles’ house to collect some of his things.

“You’re looking for the deed and a few ration papers he left behind for Derek.”

Isaac returned quickly, dropping the key into Scott’s hand while Derek pulled more pain from him.

They got everything folded and tucked away into the trunk. Derek carried it out and stashed it in the boot of Isaac’s limousine, which he’d brought to carry more produce. Scott sat up front with Isaac. Derek crawled into the back with the crutches and the baskets.

The sun was just starting to come up when they arrived at the garden.

“Pick only the ripest,” Scott said. “I’ll go through afterwards and pick what’s sellable.”

They spent about six hours plucking off beans and peas, carefully pulling tomatoes from their vines, and digging out onions and carrots.

The baskets they’d brought were overfull, and still Scott kept adding vegetables. He directed Derek on pulling the watermelons, which they placed in the boot with the trunk. Every fifteen minutes, Derek would pause in his harvest and pull some of the growing pain in Scott. He was feeling lightheaded with it and stumbled after the last pain pull.

“That’s enough,” Scott declared somewhere around midday. Isaac was sitting in the limousine, drinking from Derek’s jug of water. Scott nodded. “Add those to our supplies. We can always carry water to avoid having to purchase drinks. We’ll head back to the house now so that we can clean up a little, eat something, and then head out to the market where we’ll trade as much of the produce as we can.”

Derek settled into his seat in the back, sniffing the vegetables and dirt as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat. His mother had told a story once of a wolf who took too much pain from a human and died. She’d always warned them not to become someone’s drain, and yet that was exactly what Derek was doing for Scott.

Scott was always in pain, there would never not be a need for Derek to pull the pain from him. But, could he do it even if it resulted in his death?

Derek sneaked a look at Isaac. He was also in pain. Would Scott tell him about Derek’s ability? Would he be expected to pull Isaac’s pain too? The way he felt right now, he couldn’t.

“Thank you, Isaac,” Scott said, pulling Derek’s drifting attention back to the humans. “Is there any way we can repay you?”

Isaac shook his head. His scent spiked with fear, and it made Derek feel sicker. “You’ve done enough,” Isaac said. “I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”

They pulled up to the house then, and Derek tumbled out, dragging Scott’s crutches with him. Once Scott was balanced, Derek went to the house, washed his hands thoroughly, and stacked bread and thin slices of meat into sandwiches.

He swallowed his in a few bites before bringing the rest of them out to Scott and Isaac.

“You go take a shower first,” Scott said to him. “Isaac and I will be out here if you need anything.”

Derek left them to it. A shower would help with the way his muscles were tensed up. He’d never pulled as much pain as he had today. He hoped it wouldn’t become a normal expectation with Scott.

Derek would deal with it if that was the case. For now, he used Scott’s generosity, and took a quick shower.

~ * ~

The market was full of people when they arrived, and Derek put his head down, carrying what he was told to where he was directed. Scott crutched around, talking to various vendors, but always returning to Erica to trade more tomatoes or a watermelon for something else that would help them on their journey.

Derek had his writing sticks and empty ration papers. He put them into the trunk immediately to avoid losing them. Then, he tried reading the signs hanging around the market. None of them made sense to him. He could recognize a few letters, and he could pick out the ones that made up his name but everything else was a jumbled mess. Even Erica’s sign, which he had been told before, was unreadable to him.

Then, he saw Erica’s shirt. There was even more writing on it, and he paused to puzzle it out.

Erica glared at him, crossing her arms over chest. “And just what do you think you’re looking at?” she demanded.

Derek pointed at her shirt.

Her glare intensified, her anger rolling off her in waves.

“My breasts?” she hissed, nostrils flaring. It was very wolfish behavior, he thought.

“Your breasts?” Derek asked, puzzled. Well, yes, the text was perfectly placed over her chest. But, that’s not what he was staring at.

“Yes,” Erica said, “ _my breasts_.”

The right answer, Derek surmised, was to say “No”, so he stayed silent, which was as good as a no, at least in Kate’s compound.

Apparently, it was the wrong answer because Erica slapped him.

“Whoa, hey!” Scott shouted, hobbling toward them as fast as he could on the uneven ground. “What’s going on here?” He was panting harshly, winded from the short walk. He was getting worse rapidly. They did not have time to waste.

“He was ogling me!” Erica cried, her arms crossed over her chest again.

“Derek?”

Embarrassed, Derek ducked his head, mumbling, “She has words on her shirt. I was trying to read them.”

Erica’s face, red from her anger, paled quickly as she glanced down at her shirt, at the words marching across her chest. “Oh,” she said softly, chastised.

Scott sighed and rubbed his face with his hand.

“It says her stand’s name,” he explained. “‘Sweet Cheek’s Veggie Tables.’”

Derek sounded it out, glancing up at the large board nailed across the front of her stand. The letters did not look alike. The text on the sign was curled around each other, the letters completely indistinguishable, like a line of hills all connected to each other. He did not think the sign said the same thing as Erica’s shirt. He knew that Erica’s stand was called ‘Sweet Cheek’s’ because she’d told him it the first day he’d brought produce to trade without Scott.

“They’re not the same,” he said to Scott.

Her shirt was crowded lettering that he couldn’t begin to read despite the fact that when Scott tried teaching him, all of Scott’s letters were uneven and sometimes overlapped when they shouldn’t.

“They are too the same thing,” Erica insisted. She shoved her lockbox out of her way and climbed on top of the counter. She unhooked the sign and handed it down to Scott.

He laid it on another counter while Erica jumped down.

She grabbed the hem of her t-shirt and yanked it off, handing it to Scott. She had a white sleeveless shirt underneath, and it had the same letters in black as her t-shirt.

She rooted around behind her stand until she found a red shirt with the same string of letters on it and pulled it on.

Scott rubbed his face again. “Why didn’t you just grab that one instead?” he asked.

Erica shrugged, a grin on her lips. “Don’t know why.”

“Whatever.” Scott spread the shirt on the counter next to the sign. “S-W-E-E-T-C-H-E-E-K-S.”

“Why do the letters look different?” Derek interrupted.

“Because they are different fonts,” Erica said.

At Derek’s blank look, Scott asked, “Why do your letters look different from mine?”

“We’re different people?” Derek guessed.

“Exactly. So, different fonts just means that different people wrote the style of the words.”

Derek brushed a thumb over the t-shirt. It was still warm from Erica. He then repeated the movement over the sign’s letters.

“Whoever wrote these has better letters than you,” he said to Scott.

Scott laughed. “Isn’t that the truth. If you practice, you’ll probably be a neater writer than me.”

“To be fair,” Erica said, “I think everyone has neater handwriting than Scott.”

“Is it because he can’t use his right hand and has to use his left?”

“Yes,” Scott said simply. “That is the exact reason. I’ve been practicing so that I can at least be legible.” He held up his curled right hand. Derek could smell the death of the muscles, rotting from the unhealed injury. If Scott delayed the bite any longer than he already had, he was definitely going to lose his hand. His leg wasn’t much better right now either.

“Anyway,” Scott continued, “do you believe me that the sign and the t-shirt say the same thing?”

Derek nodded. Erica grabbed her sign and climbed back onto her counter to put it away.

When she had both feet back on the ground, she dusted off her hands and grabbed the shirt she had taken off. She offered it to Scott.

“If he can refrain from staring at my breasts, I can tutor Derek in exchange for help during the busy months at  _Sweet Cheeks_.”

Scott handed the shirt to Derek. “Do you want to do that? It would mean that you wouldn’t be at home all the time anymore.” He turned back to Erica. “We’re going on a trip right now, but we should be back before too long.”

“That’s fine,” Erica said. “Give you ten ration papers for your last three watermelons.”

“Deal.”

Derek went back to the limousine to gather the watermelons. As he worked he thought about that word: home. Home was where the phone never rang and his husband was never there. Home was where there was nothing he felt safe doing besides tending to the garden.

Home wasn’t where he thought Stiles’ or Scott’s houses were for him. He wondered if working for Erica would make her stand a home for him.

When he came back, Scott gave him Erica’s shirt, and he pulled it on.

It fit a little too snugly, and she eyed him with a critical eye. “I’ve got bigger shirts at home. I’ll bring one for you when you are back.”

Derek tugged it off and handed it back to Erica. They gathered their trades and headed back to the limousine.

Isaac returned at the same time as Derek and Scott. “I traded the last of it for dried meat and hard biscuits,” Isaac said. “Good traveling food.” He stashed the package in the boot. “What now?”

Scott looked up at the changing sky. Sunset was beautiful here. “It’s too late to get any tickets tonight, so we’ll have to go back home tonight. Isaac, why don’t you stay with us? I’m sure I’ll need all the help I can get with the trip down.”

Isaac tried to say no, but his resolve was gone. The fear from earlier flared briefly before Isaac stamped it down, grinning at Scott. “I’d like that a lot.”

Back at Scott’s house, Isaac carried in the things that Scott didn’t trust to leave out in the vehicle. Derek grabbed his papers and pencils, tucking them into his pocket, before he helped Scott up the stairs.

Isaac went to the kitchen to make more sandwiches with the last of the meat slices and bread. Breakfast would have to be lumpy pancakes if Derek had to do it.

As Scott sank onto his couch, he grinned tiredly. Derek drew a little pain from him before he went to help Isaac.

After they’d eaten and Derek had washed the dishes and wiped away the crumbs, they sat in the room with the couch. It was nice, the closest to home that Derek had felt in a while.

Scott shifted a bit, wincing as he moved. He shot a grateful smile at Derek when he brushed his hand down his knee, taking some of the pain. “I can’t wait to let Stiles know about this,” he said. “He’ll be so proud. You’ll have a job that can teach you skills for the world.”

Would Stiles really be proud? Derek truly didn’t know. He knew nothing of his husband. Even Scott’s stories seemed as if they were about some other war hero. If Stiles was proud of him about anything Scott had told him, Derek had yet to hear it.

“I should take a picture of you,” Scot mused. “Maybe on the train down? I hope it’s cooler there than it is today. It’s supposed to get into the upper nineties for temps tomorrow.”

“A picture for Stiles?” Derek asked.

Scott nodded. “He says those are the best parts of my letters. I try to include one every time.”

“What does he like about them?” Derek asked. If he was pressing for details, little bits of information of his absent husband, it was no one’s business but his own.

“I think he likes them because it’s you. He always mentions just how much you’re growing up.” Scott paused, contemplative. “I think he’s coming around. He might be ready to accept my receiving the bite.”

“Is his objection the only reason that you were hesitating?”

“No,” Scott said, rubbing at his bad leg. Each brush of his hand increased the death smell Derek had noticed. “I was waiting for summer to be over so that I can leave my garden with a clear conscience.”

“If you wait too much longer, your leg will need to be cut off and even being turned will not make it grow back. Same thing with your hand.”

“When I get the bite, will this pain disappear?”

He sounded young, scared. Derek stood up, sat on the cushion next to him, and took his good hand in both of his. He pulled more pain from Scott, drawing it into himself. Scott sighed in relief, sagging against him.

Derek rubbed his thumb over Scott’s palm, drawing interlocking spirals, and siphoning more of his pain. He only stopped when the wooziness from yesterday returned in full force.

“You will heal,” he said. “I can’t promise that the bite won’t hurt just as much, but if it takes, yes, the pain will go away.”

“And if it doesn’t take?”

Derek thought back to the hushed stories his mother used to tell of great werewolves who would turn people. Some lived, some didn’t. She said the agony of turning was more than some people could bear. But, if the person had endured another hurt in their life, they were more likely to fight through it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never seen someone bitten. My mother used to say that if you had suffered strife, your chances were good.”

“But it’s just a story,” Scott finished. Derek nodded. “It’s a good one, though, and one that doesn’t end with me losing my leg and my hand.”

“If the alpha doesn’t want you in their pack, you’ll have to find a pack that will take you. First moons are hard on new wolves.”

“Would your mother take me in even if I’ve been bitten by another alpha?”

“I don’t know,” Derek said. “I haven’t spoken to her since I was ten.”

“I’ll write her a letter,” Scott said. “What’s the address?”

“Address?”

“The place where she lives? It has a city and a postcode. It’s how I send letters to Stiles, except Stiles’ postcode is himself.”

“Why would I know my mother’s address? I don’t even know Stiles’.”

“What? Why don’t you?” Scott yanked his hand free and leveraged himself upright so that he could grab a stack of papers from the low table in front of the couch. “Here,” he said, handing Derek a page. “That’s the address I send all of Stiles’ letters to.” He flipped to another page. “This is my address and phone number. Stiles’ is included on his address sheet.”

Scott shuffled the papers together, tapping them against the table to line their edges up. “I don’t understand why you weren’t given a copy of your alpha’s paperwork so that you could keep in contact.”

He set the papers down and grabbed his crutches. “Let me go talk to Danny. You remember Danny from the council building? He should be able to find your mother’s address and phone number for us.”

Derek followed him to the kitchen where Scott’s phone was stored in a box with a sliding lid. Isaac moved to the couch and lied down. He was asleep in seconds.

After punching in a string of numbers kept on a loose leaf of paper in the box, Scott put his phone against his ear. “It’s ringing,” he told Derek. “Oh hello, Danny! How are you?”

Derek sharpened his hearing, catching the end of Danny saying something about Simon and his cravings.

“Oh, that’s...wonderful?” Scott lied, his wince and heartbeat giving him away. “I’ve certainly never had the pleasure of tasting chocolate-covered anchovies.”

“It certainly makes it easy providing for a pregnant goblin when he can create all his cravings himself and all I have to do is pleasure him.”

Scott cleared his throat, shooting Derek a worried glance. “Little mice have big ears,” he said.

“Coach said that too,” Derek told him, receiving a blank stare in response. “At the wedding.” Scott continued to stare blankly, so Derek offered a thin smile. “How is Simon?”

“He’s great,” Scott said. “Pregnant in the way only a magical being can be.”                      

“No offense, but why did you call me?” Danny demanded.

“It’s only recently come to my attention,” Scott said, “that Derek never received his family’s contact information. I believe they don’t have his information either since they haven’t tried to contact him yet.”

“Yet?” Danny said, incredulous. “Scott, it’s been almost five months. Why are you just telling me about this now?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been a little busy trying to teach him the life skills he never learned,” Scott said. Derek recoiled at the anger wafting off Scott. “His husband all but abandons him, leaving me in charge of keeping him safe, and no one even thought to give him information about his family. Have any of  _you_  tried contacting his family and letting them know that he is okay?”

“I’ll get right on that,” Danny promised, his heartbeat steady. “I’ll call you back as soon as I know anything. Tell Derek to hang on. We’re not going to fail him again.”

Scott put the phone back on its base and turned to Derek. “You heard that, right?”

Derek nodded.

“Okay, so you know Danny’s really trustworthy.”

“He doesn’t like Stiles,” Derek said.

“No, not since we were in high school and the hunters rooted out the supernaturals among us. They killed Danny’s best friend, Jackson because he’d been bitten by a rogue supernatural and had changed from human to kanima.”

“Why did Danny say Stiles had killed him?”

“What? When did he say that?”

“Right before Stiles’ and my marriage. It was in the room with Simon and the sage.”

Scott sighed. “Back when we were fifteen, we were assessed by the hunters and sorted into groups of would-be soldiers and those that wouldn’t work. Stiles and I were sorted into the soldier group. Danny was a druid and Jackson revealed his changed nature. In order to save the rest of the class that would have reacted to Jackson’s power play against the hunters, Stiles offered to show them just how good of a soldier he could be.”

Scott fell silent, his hands pressed together, pointer fingers against his lips. Derek waited patiently. It was a skill Kate had drilled into him, literally.

While he waited, Derek put away the dried dishes. He swept the floor, putting the crumbs into the bin. He had moved on to reorganizing the cabinets, setting aside the dry goods that would go bad before they could make it back from Scott’s bite. The next full moon was nearly a month away.

Scott would have to stay with his alpha, whether that was Derek’s mother or another, until after the first three full moons. The first would establish Scott’s anchor. The second, his control. The third was a precaution. If he hadn’t learned an anchor or control by then, he would be placed under full control of his alpha.

At least, that’s how Derek recalled the ceremony being told to him. He’d actually been born in captivity, in Kate’s compound. Mom had told stories of turnings, of both the good and the bad. Dad was a good turning. His sister was a bad one. Derek had never met his aunt because she’d been feral by her third moon, and the hunters had used her to capture his parents.

Derek moved on to sorting the dishes as Scott still sat, frozen, staring at nothing and everything all at once. It appeared as if Scott just bought more dishes whenever he was running low on clean dishes because the cupboard was more than full.

The bare allowance Stiles sent back for Derek was enough to purchase his own cup and plate and spoon. Derek usually ate with his fingers or not at all, depending on who was visiting Scott.

Derek kept the rest of the ration papers stored in the lining of the trunk still out in Isaac’s limousine.

“He came back that day not himself,” Scott finally said when Derek had finished with the cupboard and was sweeping again. He made a small noise in the back of his throat to encourage Scott to keep talking.

“He admitted later, when he thought I was going to die from my injuries, that he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger but that the hunters had made him watch as Jackson was murdered. I don’t know why he let Danny think he was the one who killed Jackson for this long.”

“Maybe it was never the right time,” Derek suggested. “You said he didn’t tell you until he thought you were dying. What if the moment has never been right to tell Danny? What if Danny made it never be the right moment? Anger is a very powerful emotion. If he thought that Stiles had killed his best friend, he probably never wanted to interact with him again.”

“That’s probably true,” Scott agreed and then changed the conversation entirely by saying, “So, Derek, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your family at all.”

It didn’t sound like a reprimand. Maybe it wasn’t a trick? To be fair, nothing so far had been a trick, but Derek was still cautious. There was a reason he’d survived Kate’s assaults for three years. Five months with the generals wasn’t enough to undo his training.

“There’s not much to tell,” he said, sitting across from Scott. “I haven’t really seen my family since I was ten. I mean, we were reunited in the detention center before they were moved. But, that was before the ceremony.”

“You haven’t seen your family since you were ten?” Scott repeated, an edge of incredulity in his words. “Is that when…?”

“When Kate took me,” Derek finished, staring down at his hands. He nodded. “Yes.”

“Jesus.” Scott scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. Jesus. Here’s what we’re going to do: when Danny gets back to us with your family’s information, we’re going to call them immediately. I should have done this sooner, Derek, I’m sorry.” Scott sighed. “I suppose I have become spoiled with you always so near. I haven’t had to take care of myself for a while now.”

“If the bite takes, you should know by the second day. But, it will take a while before you can come back.”

The phone rang, and Scott grabbed it. “Danny?”

“So, the Hale farm is actually close to San Bernardino, about three hours away by train. It’s, uh, actually a part of the Argent compound where they were imprisoned.” Danny rattled off the location and the phone number of a telephone near the house.

Scott shot Derek a worried look. “Any reason why they did that?”

“Something about familiarity of surroundings? I don’t know, it all sounded like some kind of bullshit.”

“Or maybe it was because that area used to be Hale territory before the war,” Derek said. “My mom used to tell stories of when she was growing up, and that land belonged to her pack.”

“I don’t know why I keep forgetting  that you’re not here because you chose to be,” Scott said. “Goddamn it, sometimes I really hate Stiles.”

Derek didn’t respond. He rarely did when Scott lamented his friend and Derek’s husband. What could he say? He didn’t hate Stiles, not for marrying him. He may have resented him, but the resentment was born of unfamiliarity and abandonment.

On the phone, Danny sighed. “Listen, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Just take Derek to visit his family, and as long as Stiles is gone, maybe he can stay with them. I’m sure Stiles wouldn’t begrudge him that.”

“And I’m sure it hasn’t occurred to Stiles yet that he’s not doing his best with his husband.”

“I can ask the council if they would entertain a notion to perform an annulment, but…”

“But they would probably just threaten you with Eichen House again,” Scott finished. “No, you’re right. It’s better to work this out with our selves first.”

“Okay, well, if that’s all,” Danny said.

Scott glanced at Derek, and he mouthed, “Alpha,” at him.

“Just one more thing,” Scott said. “Do I have to register my intent to seek the bite of an alpha werewolf?”

“Uh, you may have to sign some forms,” Danny said. “But, if you need immediate results, it may be better to seek registration afterward. Just my opinion.”

“‘It’s easier to seek forgiveness than to ask permission,’” Scott said.

“Yes, it is,” Danny agreed. “Godspeed and good luck.”

“Same to you.”

Scott set his phone down and tapped the pad of paper where he had scribbled the number Danny gave him. Derek folded his hands together and tried to contain the growing excitement he could sense within himself. His family was at hand—not that they hadn’t been since Scott needed the bite.

“Do you want me to call them today?” Scott asked.

Derek nodded.

“Wonderful.” He looked up from punching in the number and smiled at Derek. “Breathe,” he advised. “It will be fine.”

Fine was an understatement. If his family answered their phone, he would get to talk to them for the first time since the detention center so long ago. It was exciting and exhilarating. But, Derek knew it would be tempered with Stiles’ approval. If his husband said he couldn’t have contact with his family, then he couldn’t have contact. And, if like now, Stiles refused to say anything, to acknowledge their marriage and the validity of it, then Derek would continue to err on the side of caution and not reach out again himself.

He hoped though that Stiles would permit at least phone calls. The way he still glowered whenever he was home and Scott’s injuries came up, brief that it was, Derek didn’t think he would react too badly to Scott being bitten.

“Ready?” Scott said, breaking into Derek’s thoughts. He nodded even though he was nowhere ready at all.

“Alpha Hale,” Scott said suddenly. Derek froze, straining his ears.

“General McCall,” his mother said, pleasantly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“It has recently come to my attention that your son Derek did not have your contact information. I promised I would seek it out for him. Would you be amendable to speaking with him?”

Mom gasped, low enough that Scott couldn’t hear her, but Derek could, the relief of it ringing in his ears. “Does my son’s husband approve of this call?”

“You know what,” Scott said, a hint of carelessness in his tone, “I just plain forgot to ask. He certainly didn’t seem to care when I asked if Derek could have contact with you.”

“So, my son does not have explicit permission to contact me?” Mom sounded hurt.

“He has my permission,” Scott said. “His husband left him in my care while he travels. I say it is okay for Derek to have contact with you. We will cross General Stilinski’s bridge when we come to it. For now, would you like to speak with Derek?”

“Yes, please,” Mom breathed.

Scott held the phone out to Derek. He took it gingerly.

“Hello?” he said into the quiet crackle of static.

“Derek, my baby,” Mom said softly. “Oh, my darling little boy.”

Derek curled around the phone, listening to Mom cooing at him while Scott occupied himself with a thin sheaf of papers kept on the counter.

“Mom,” Derek said, just as softly. “Oh, Mom.”

It was good to hear her voice, to hear the noise of Dad and his sisters in the background. Scott let him speak for nearly an hour before he requested the phone back to ask about seeking the bite.

Derek spent the rest of the night too elated, running through the many things Mom had told him of their life on the farm, to do much else than pace from room to room while Scott settled down upstairs and Isaac slept on the couch.

It made no difference to Derek whether he rested or not. His bed was currently occupied with their supplies for the trip so he had nowhere else to go.

Eventually, though, he curled in a corner, head on his knees as he replayed his mother’s voice in his head like a lullaby.

~ * ~


	11. Eight

~ * ~

Stiles found his seat quickly, placing his bag underneath and sitting with his ticket held loosely in his left hand.

The conductor came by, punched a small star-shaped hole in the top corner, and wished him a pleasant journey.

Shortly after the train started moving, Kira dropped into the seat across from Stiles.

“Ms. Yukimura,” he said lowly. She smiled politely.

“General Stilinski.”

“Just Stiles, please.”

“Only if you return the favor,” she returned.

“Certainly, Kira.” He shoved his ticket into his pocket and balanced one leg atop the knee of the other. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Kira smirked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Who said anything about pleasure?” She sobered quickly, making a gesture to someone behind Stiles. By the time he’d turned to check, finding no one there, and turned back to her, another woman had appeared.

The new woman was dressed in a black leather jacket over a thin black tank top. Her pants were also black, as were her boots. Stiles could appreciate the debonair flair of it, but it also reminded him strongly of his assassin days.

When she lifted her head to fix him with a steely gaze, he noted the three healed lines across her throat.

She followed his eyes and snorted. “Ask nicely and someday I might tell you the story,” she said. Then, she sat next to Kira and pulled out a thick folder of mostly encrypted text pages.

“Stiles, this is Braeden. She runs the retrieval missions.”

The woman with scars stuck out her hand and Stiles gave it a few good pumps.

“Pleasure,” he said.

Braeden snorted. “For you, General? Maybe. For me? Never.”

Braeden wiped her hand on her pants and returned to her papers. Kira shrugged at Stiles.

“So,” she said brightly, drawing Braeden’s attention back to them, “what exactly are we going to do when we reach the border?”

“We,” Braeden pointed at all of them, “are not doing anything. The General is going in first, a sort of gesture of good will, if you want. You and I will stake out the roof and provide backup as needed.”

“Wait,” Stiles protested, “you’re sending me into Gerard Argent’s compound alone and defenseless?”

Braeden snorted again. “Do you really think you’re defenseless?” She reached into her bag again and tossed something at Stiles.

He caught it, tucking it quickly by his leg as another passenger stumbled past them, on his way to the restaurant car ahead of their car.

“Why would you do that?” he hissed. “Surely as a retrieval expert you know the importance of not drawing attention to one’s self.”

“Of course,” Braeden said. “That doesn’t discount the fact that you are now armed. Don’t get caught with it.” She tucked her folder back into her bag and stood up. “When business becomes less pleasurable for you, General, come find me.” She walked away without looking back.

“Stupid,” Stiles muttered, pulling out his own bag and stashing the small handgun Braeden had given him in the hidden compartment. “So stupid.”

“It was either that or hand it to you in plain sight,” Kira said.

Stiles stared at her incredulous. “And that wasn’t in plain sight?”

“No one noticed anything,” Kira said. “But, if you continue to mention it, someone could, and then it won’t matter what we do, you’ll be a suspicious passenger.”

“Great.” Stiles leaned back in his seat, his bag next to him. “So, you get to make me the bad guy now, is that it?”

Kira adopted a look of innocence. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “You were never the good guy.”

She flashed a quick grin before standing up. “Like Braeden said, once you look at this as less of a pleasure job and more of a life or death thing, come find us. We’ll be in the third carriage.”

Stiles watched her leave, pondering her words. On one hand, it was nice to finally have confirmation that he was not a good person even though he’d chosen the right side. But, on the other, neither Kira nor Braeden knew what he had done to ensure the freedom of the supernaturals, so he didn’t feel they had the right to judge him so harshly.

They were right, though, that he was still in his traveling spokesman-mode. He needed to switch back to assassin, especially if he was going to be meeting with Gerard Argent himself.

If the opportunity presented itself, the world would be with one less Argent by the time Stiles was on his way back to California.

He stood up, hefting his bag onto his shoulder. Kira had said the third car. Well, the third car was where he belonged whether they liked it or not.

~ * ~

Braeden and Kira didn’t look surprised to see him, and Kira grabbed another plate off the counter behind their table. Stiles declined it, taking the seat next to Kira because, of the two of them, she was more familiar and less likely to stab him with the frankly frightening knives they were using to cut their steaks.

“So, how much pleasure is this trip for you?” Braeden asked around a large bite of still-bloody meat.

“Not pleasure at all,” Stiles said. He deliberately set his bag on his feet. “How about for you, Miss…?

“Need-to-know basis,” Braeden supplied.

“Fine. You already know who I am.”

“I do, which is not a good thing. If I know you, the enemy does too.”

“I was made into a figurehead after the war,” Stiles said. “Before, I was a secret weapon, someone who operated in the dark.”

“And a damn fucker,” Braeden said.

“So that’s your problem with me.” Stiles snorted. “You think I married that boy just to continue his abuse? You’ve been given the wrong information.”

“You’re not some fucking saint just because you killed the big-bad,” Braeden said, “and no matter your ‘intentions,’ you’re still the asshole who married a thirteen year old boy when he should have gone with his family.”

Stiles growled under his breath. “If you must know, I tried to have the marriage annulled and the council refused. I tried to right the wrong I did and I was told I’d be thrown in Eichen House for my trouble. And not only that, but that Derek would be committed too.” He fell back in his seat, blinking hard. “I couldn’t do that to him. Not after what I’d already done. So, no, I don’t believe that I’m some fucking saint incapable of making mistakes. I’m riddled with them, and most of them are related to that boy.”

Braeden scoffed. “I’m still not convinced that you don’t think you’re the good guy. You want a hero? Don’t look in a mirror.”

“No,” Stiles agreed. “If I want to see a hero, I travel to Beacon Hills and look at my best friend. The things Scott’s done, the people he’s saved. No matter what I’ve done that is good, nothing compares to him.”

“Oh, I know he’s a better man than you,” Braeden said. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you and your husband. The law still disallows him from leaving your worthless ass, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have protection. Scott has never touched him inappropriately.”

“Unlike you,” Kira added quietly.

“I haven’t either,” Stiles protested. “When? Where? Do you have any evidence aside from eye witnesses?”

“No,” Kira admitted after a flinty look from Braeden, “but I trust our sources.”

Stiles thought back over all the interactions he’d had with Derek and only found one—the day of the wedding ceremony, in the little closet room with Danny, the goblin, the wyvern, Scott, and his dad.

“If you’re talking about Derek sitting in my lap five months ago, he was only doing that to comfort me, to prevent me from succumbing to an episode of PTSD. If your source is Danny Mahealani, then you’d better find a less biased one.”

“Actually,” Kira said, wincing “our source is John Stilinski.”

Stiles pretended, rather successfully he thought, that the news wasn’t unexpected. “So? He was there too. He knows what did and didn’t happen.”

“I’m sick of this shit,” Braeden said. “Look, General,” she sneered, “we don’t like you. There is nothing you can do about it. What you can do instead is get up to date on the mission info and do your job. If either Kira or I have to talk to you about your husband again, it’d better be through a straw because we beat you.”

Stiles glowered at her. “The hatred is mutual,” he said. “If I ever meet you without your sidekick, you’re dead. You cannot insult me by implying that I am raping my husband and get away with it.”

“Oh yeah? I just did.” Braeden stood up, tossing another folder onto the table. She stalked off, leaving Kira sitting awkwardly next to Stiles.

“I would apologize,” she said after a very pregnant pause.

“But you agree with her.” Stiles sighed and picked up the folder. The information wasn’t encrypted like Braeden’s, but it was still in code.

Stiles kept up with his training, just in case he was ever called back to duty, and he decoded the information easily.

He had made it halfway down the first page when a commotion drew his attention.

The conductor was trying to force his way onto the car, shouting unintelligibly.

Kira grabbed the folder from Stiles’ hands and shoved it in her bag. She pointed at his bag, and he picked it up.

“We’ve got to get out of here. We’re almost to the border.”

Stiles nodded. “There’s an access door that will let us exit this carriage. We can then double back to the caboose and jump off when the train slows down for the station. It’ll be about five or ten minutes.”

“I don’t know if we have that long.”

Stiles glanced at where the conductor was still shouting, other passengers restraining him. “We’ll have to make it work. Come on.”

Stiles was under no illusion that the people holding the conductor back hadn’t noticed when he and Kira slipped out the front of the restaurant car.

Immediately, he hauled himself onto the roof. Kira followed quickly.

“Won’t they hear us?” she hissed.

Stiles shrugged. “We only need to make them think we’re going over the top when we can go through. First, I need you to go toward the back of the car. I’m going to jump onto the one ahead of us. Get them to follow me. Then, once you’re back inside, I’ll double back and meet you at the caboose.”

Kira shook her head. “You’re crazy.” But, she still stepped toward the back of the car. Stiles flipped two thumbs-up at her before he took a deep breath and leaped at the car in front.

He landed hard, and if his bag wasn’t looped around his neck, he’s positive he would have lost it.

Below him, he heard the conductor throw open the door.

He stood up and waved at the man.

“You!”

“Me.” Stiles shrugged at him, grinning. It had been far too long since he had last felt his blood rising like this. It was exhilarating, thrilling. Freeing.

He snapped his teeth at his opponent, a challenge issued. The man was practically apoplectic, jumping up and down, spitting curses, and shaking his fist at Stiles.

“Oh yeah? Come get me.” He turned and raced along the length of the car, jumping easily to the one in front. He glanced back to check the conductor’s progress, laughing at the sight of the man, rotund and red-faced, squirming atop the car. Stiles easily jumped back, picking up speed and leaping over the still-struggling man to land back on the restaurant car.

He kept moving, leaping onto the next car and then onto the next one. He slid down, threw open the door, and walked quickly to the end of the car. People applauded loudly as he moved past them, and a few of them reached out to touch his hand, whispering, “Thank you for your service.”

Stiles almost paused, blinking back tears in his eyes. Even after the war in California was done, only cleaning up of loose factions left, soldiers of the Rebel Alliance had been ignored or outright disrespected. Stiles had been spit on and roughed up when he stopped at bars for a quick drink. Hell, even after the council had given him the title “general” he hadn’t been thanked for the things he’d given up for his fellow statesmen.

He nodded at the people touching him and continued. Kira was waiting. So was Braeden. There was still a mission to complete. Then, if he could, he was coming back to this train line and receiving the hero’s welcome he knew he’d never get anywhere else.

Kira and Braeden were both on the back of the caboose, and Kira was talking to Braeden, their heads close together. Braeden shot him a look of derision.

“Are you done being fawned over by the masses yet?” she snapped at him. Kira tugged at her arm.

Stiles spread his hands out, giving her his best what-are-you-going-to-do look. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

She scoffed, muttering “Whatever” under her breath.

“Listen,” Kira said, “the train is slowing down now.” She pointed down at the wheels. Stiles cocked his head. Yeah, the train was decelerating rapidly.

“Shit, the conductor,” Stiles realized. Braeden gave him a flat look. “What? Was I supposed to kill him? Maybe get a bounty on my head?”

“Don’t you get it, asshole? You already have a bounty on your head! If it weren’t so paltry, I’d turn you in myself. Fuck knows we need the funds it’d bring.”

“Hey now,” Kira protested. “Let’s pick this up later when we’re not in danger of being caught and killed.” She turned to Stiles and pulled a pouch from her pocket, passing it to him. “This will help you if you find yourself stranded.”

“They won’t kill us,” Stiles said. “They’ll have to have a trial first.”

“Are you sure about that?” Braeden said. “You, you’re a traitor to the United Commonwealth of States. And you know too much about our organization for me to let you live.”

“So, if the conductor doesn’t kill me, you will? Fuck you.” Stiles shoved her aside and climbed over the railing. By now, the train was moving maybe a few miles above the safe limit for leaping from a moving vehicle, but Stiles had survived being shot through the side and almost being captured. Hitting the ground hard would not kill him.

“No, wait!” Kira cried, her hand closing around the space where he had just been. Stiles grinned at her before he slammed into the ground and rolled with the momentum.

The train was long gone when he managed to right himself and limp into the sparse foliage. He had maybe twenty minutes before the conductor could contact the local hunter group and they could mobilize enough forces to search the hills around the tracks. Twenty minutes was a long time, and if Stiles remembered his maps well, there was a small town just a few ridges away from here.

Three Creek. A ghost town in the best sense of the word—absolutely no one in or near it. It was a perfect place to hide.

Stiles checked his bag, noting that he had everything he’d left the train with, including the gun.

He cursed himself for not demanding more ammunition for it, but at least it was fully loaded. Seventeen bullets. Sixteen for any enemies and one for himself if he couldn’t make it out, if it came to that. Stiles unloaded the gun, putting the bullets in a separate pocket from the weapon.

Then, he shouldered the bag again and started walking.

~ * ~

Stiles took a break at the halfway point, crawling into the sparse brush to drink some water and check his compass.

He didn’t think he’d been followed. There was no evidence as of yet, but he would continue pressing forward. Stiles hoped Braeden and Kira were having as much luck as himself.

He checked his phone before he left his shelter and realized that he was receiving a call from Scott.

“Now’s not a great time, buddy,” he hissed.

Scott sighed. “No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “Look, I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking Derek down to his parents’ farm. I’m pretty sure we’re staying down there, for a while at least because,” here he sighed again, “I’m getting the bite.”

“You’re going to be a werewolf, Scotty?” Stiles bit his lip, wishing he could take back the words, or maybe just the accusing tone with which he’d said them.

“Derek says that my extremities are decaying. If I want to have any quality of life without amputation, then I need the bite. Otherwise, I’m looking at losing my right arm and leg for sure. Who knows just how bad it really is.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “Not for the fact that you’re getting the bite, but because it’s my fault that you’re in that position.”

“You’re not the one who threw a grenade into our transport,” Scott said, tiredly. Understandable. This was an argument they’d had many times ever since Scott had woken up in the hospital.

“I’m the reason you were part of the Rebel Alliance.”

“Stop,” Scott ordered. “If you go down that path now, you run the risk of ruining your speaking tour. You carry too much guilt. Go, do your thing. Call me after, okay? I’ll update you on our journey.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Stiles hung up before Scott could. He sipped at his water again, contemplative. Was it really such a bad thing if Scott was turned? He would no longer be human but he would also no longer be in pain, and Stiles counted himself very fortunate to not have sustained any lasting injuries during his service.

He thought about it for just a second more, to come to the conclusion that it was not his business. It was Scott’s.

Stiles put away his water and hefted his bag back into place.

Then, he snapped off a branch and used it to brush away his footprints as he started toward Three Creek again, toward Braeden’s mission.

If Stiles died here, he was coming back just to haunt her.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little early, but I've been having some really busy Saturdays and tomorrow is no exception.
> 
> I do have the rest of the story outlined. It's just finding the time to write it in between all the other projects I have going on. I believe there's only ten more chapters, but with the way I write, there's either a lot more or a little less, so in the event of the story working out as planned, the chapter count has been increased to 21 (9 more chapters and an epilogue).
> 
> Thanks to all who read, subscribe, kudos, bookmark, and comment. Your support has been phenomenal.


	12. Nine

~ * ~

It was too early to be up when Isaac shook Derek awake from the light doze he’d finally managed maybe thirty minutes earlier. Wordlessly, Isaac handed him a flatbread with a tiny bit of jam spread over the top of it. Derek thanked him, and then followed him to where Scott was struggling with his crutches. Derek gripped his arm, pulling as much of his pain as he could stand.

Scott smiled gratefully, easing his way out onto the porch. Derek hovered by his elbow just in case he needed more help while Isaac locked the door behind them.

Into the limousine they climbed, with Isaac in the driver’s seat and Derek and Scott in the back.

“We’re going to be on the train for almost a full day, so make sure you have something to entertain you if you’re not going to be sleeping,” Scott said. “I would like to hear more about how an alpha selects and bites a potential pack member.”

“I don’t know much about it. The last turned werewolf was before my parents were captured,” Derek said. “My mom didn’t talk about it much.”

Scott nodded and dropped the conversation entirely. Derek studied the passing scenery with his shifted eyes since it was still too dark to discern much of anything.

By the time they pulled up to the station, he’d nearly dropped off to sleep, and Scott had to rouse him while they went to purchase the tickets and Isaac disposed of the limousine.

Derek carried the trunk while Scott maneuvered on his crutches. Murmurs from other early riders followed them.

Derek ducked his head, ashamed that most of what he heard was how General Stilinski was passing his child-bridegroom to another for use.

He recalled their encounter with Private Ennis the last time they were here, and it made him drag his feet as Scott hurried to the train’s doors.

Isaac caught up with them as they were settling into a mostly empty carriage. He offered Derek a wan smile. “I don’t like crowds either,” he said. Derek nodded. Better to let him think that was what was wrong and not the fact that Derek couldn’t escape Mast—Kate’s grip.

They had their choice of seats, and Derek slid into one that afforded the best view of Beacon Hills as the train started gathering momentum to pull out of the station. Isaac sat in the seat across from him while Scott sank onto the bench next to him.

Now that they were here, Derek found he was exhausted, too tired to keep his eyes open, so he leaned against the window and let the swaying of the train pull him under.

~ * ~

When he woke up, Scott had a sandwich and a bottle of juice for him.

Derek ate quickly, studying the occupants of the carriage to find that they had been joined by a man with a slim build and a thick beard. Derek frowned at him. Something was off, whether it was his scent, nervous sweat and too much deodorant, or the fact that the beard looked nothing like what Derek knew facial hair to be. It was as if the man had stuck a dense bush on his face.

He tugged at Scott’s sleeve. When Scott leaned close to him, Derek pointed out the man.

“He’s suspicious,” he whispered.

Scott nodded in agreement. “He came in shortly after we took off. I’m pretty sure he was following us on the platform.”

“Why?” Derek asked. “Is it because of what I am?”

Scott frowned. “Probably. I wondered why the conductor was insistent on announcing that we had a few supernatural riders today.”

How had Derek missed that? Even in his sleep he should have heard that.

Scott eyed the man again. “Isaac, take Derek a couple cars up. I’m going to ask him why he’s here.”

Derek grabbed Scott’s arm, pulling pain quickly. “What if he hurts you?” He ducked his head, letting his eyes flash yellow for a second. “I can help.”

Scott pried his hand off. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m trained in combat, remember?” He smiled entirely unreassuringly. “Isaac, make sure you get off at the next stop if I don’t come find you. I called Stiles and told him our plans, so he’ll probably be waiting for you in Chula Vista.”

Isaac pulled Derek out into the aisle with him, heading for the door between the carriages. The man tugged off his beard and leaped across the seats. Derek twisted in Isaac’s grip in time to see Scott pull out a small gun that he pointed at the man’s face.

Isaac threw Derek through the door, startling another man, this one with a real beard and a uniform.

“Conductor,” Isaac said.

“What’s the hurry, gentlemen?” the conductor said. He reached a hand into his uniform, and Derek smelled the unmistakable odor of gun oil.

Without thinking, he jumped at the conductor and clamped his fangs around the man’s wrist. The passengers in the carriage screamed and scrambled to the other side, fleeing through another door to another carriage.

The conductor howled in pain, jerking his arm against Derek’s teeth, shredding his flesh. The gun fell out of his jacket, and Isaac picked it up with shaking hands.

“Let him go, Derek,” he ordered, his voice shaking just as much as his hands. Obediently, Derek stepped back, his teeth human and bloodstained.

The conductor glared at them, spitting at their feet. “Filthy animal,” he hissed. “You won’t get off this train alive.” He spit again, the saliva landing next to Derek’s feet. “Good for nothing but a hole for a better being. Just a whore.”

“He’s a child,” Isaac said. “He’s thirteen, David. You’ve got a daughter his age.”

“I have a human child,” the conductor said. “He isn’t human.”

“No,” Derek agreed, “I’m not.” Master Kate always said the same thing. Derek was nothing but a toy for her, an outlet for her frustration, an experiment. How far could she push him before he broke? How far could the conductor?

Derek set his hand on Isaac’s and pushed the gun down. Whatever they said, he wasn’t a monster.

The conductor sneered at them. “You think I’m the only one who thinks we should have killed them all instead of freeing them? This train is never going to reach its destination, not with all its passengers.”

A sudden bang from Scott’s carriage startled them all, and the conductor used his advantage to lunge for the gun. He was stopped by Scott speaking.

“You’re right. Not all of them will.” He fired his gun, and the conductor stared down at his stomach.

Derek smelled his death before he actually toppled over.

“Anyone else?!” Scott yelled to the few remaining passengers. All of them shook their heads. Derek sniffed the air, grimacing at the bloody tinge of it. There were a few other odors from the passengers mixed in. “No? Good. Come on, Isaac, Derek, we’re leaving.”

“The train is still moving,” Isaac pointed out.

Scott punched the emergency button. The train did not stop. In fact, if Derek listened closely, he could hear the wheels accelerating.

“It’s not stopping,” he told Scott.

Scott shrugged. “Then we’ll just have to make it stop. Derek, with me. Isaac, get our trunk.” Isaac returned to their carriage, freezing briefly at the sight of the man they’d left Scott with slumped over dead.

“Derek, come,” Scott ordered, and Derek scurried to his side. Scott was every inch the general he’d been arbitrarily titled, striding forward with a purpose even though his bad leg dragged behind. The adrenaline must be what was keeping him upright because the crutches were back with Isaac and the trunk.

None of the other passengers even tried to attack them, and Derek thought it was because Scott was still swinging his gun with purpose, sweeping the scared faces with a steady hand and a steady barrel. Derek ducked under his arm and hurried forward, throwing open the doors for him in case there were more of the conductor’s cohorts behind them.

They made it through every door without interruption until they reached the door to the engine. It had been barricaded from the inside with something that even Derek’s werewolf strength could not break.

Scott motioned him back to where Isaac had taken shelter with the trunk. Then, he rapped on the door and yelled, “This is General McCall of the Rebel Alliance. You will open this door and face me like a true solider, or I will come blasting in after you like a true Rebel.”

“Send in the monster and no one else dies,” a voice called back. Derek recognized it. He ducked closer to Isaac and covered his ears so he could pretend not to hear Scott send him back to a hunter.

“What monster?” Scott asked. “The only monsters on this train are the ones already in there with you. In fact, you’re one of them.”

“I don’t turn into a creature of the night, designed to kill humans,” the hunter called back.

“That’s Bennett,” Derek whispered to Isaac. “He used to patrol the border of Master Kate’s compound.”

“What’s he doing here?” Isaac asked, and Derek shrugged. Just because he’d lived his whole life with hunters, it did not mean he knew why they did the things they did.

“There’s only one person here killing humans, and it isn’t the werewolf.” Scott kicked at the door. “Cowards. Can’t even face a damn false general.” He spit on the door and turned away, marching toward where Isaac and Derek were huddled. “Grenade,” he snapped at Isaac, and Isaac fumbled the trunk open so that Scott could take a rounded bulb from it. “Better get back into the other car, just in case the blast is a bit too strong,” he advised them before heading back to the blocked door.

Isaac didn’t hesitate, dragging Derek with him. Isaac crouched down again, but Derek wriggled free, crawling toward the door. He knew as soon as either Scott blew down the door or the hunters came out blasting, Scott would need help.

It was a testament to Scott’s strength that he hadn’t buckled yet.

Derek covered his ears when Scott pulled a ring from the grenade, rolling the bulb to rest against the door while he sought shelter halfway down the aisle.

Derek scurried forward, slapping a hand onto Scott’s thigh and pulling the pain from him. The blast from the grenade knocked him onto his ass, ears ringing, eyes stinging from the debris kicked into the air.

Scott shoved him out of the way, standing up and pointing his gun at the newly opened door.

“Come out now!” he yelled.

“You just killed the engineer,” Bennett called back. Derek sniffed, but there was too much sulfur and smoke from the explosion for him to parse out whether or not Bennett was lying based on smell.

His ears were still ringing too much to hear even Scott’s heartbeat.

Frustrated, Derek scrambled up, leaping onto a seat. He overbalanced and toppled back to the floor. He was completely useless now. He’d be lucky if Scott decided not to put a bullet in him too.

“I didn’t kill anybody,” Scott said. “Not with the grenade. If the engineer is dead, it’s because you killed him.”

“Her,” Bennett corrected. “The engineer is female. Her name was Rebecca Harlowe. She was the only engineer who would travel this line.”

“If I come in there, am I going to find a bullet in her head?” Scott asked.

The ringing had settled enough that Derek could hear the way his heart was racing. He was worried about something. Did he think he’d killed the engineer?

“No bullet in her head,” Bennett said, and faintly, Derek could make out the way his heartbeat tripped over the words. He was lying.

“You killed her, didn’t you?”

“You killed her,” Bennett retorted. “ _You_ did, General McCall.” His heartbeat tripped again.

“You didn’t kill her,” Derek said to Scott. “He’s lying about that.”

Scott shot him a flat, unimpressed look. Derek shut up, sinking down onto the seat.

“She’s dead and it’s your fault! You’re the one who brought a beast into the public. You’re responsible for any deaths that occur because of it.”

“Derek didn’t kill Rebecca Harlowe either,” Scott said. He stepped closer to the door, gun raised. “If you come out now, I won’t kill you.”

“You’re going to kill me anyway,” Bennett said. “At least let me take the creature with me.”

“No,” Scott said firmly. “I won’t give you Derek. The fact that you’d even think I would consider it means you’re right, I am going to kill you.”

Bennett stepped out, hands above his head. Behind him, a woman, sharp, assessing eyes and a think grimace, pushed him forward. She stopped in front of Scott and put her hand on the barrel of his gun. Scott let her push it down.

“I’m not dead, so you can stop pretending to be in a pissing match.”

“Rebecca Harlowe, I presume,” Scott said.

The woman nodded. She turned to Derek. “I’m Harley. Pleasure to finally meet you, kiddo.” She grabbed Bennett’s hand. “This is my boneheaded boyfriend. He’s still a little new to the activists’ side.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Scott glanced back at the car where Isaac was standing. Slowly, he turned his gaze back to Harley and Bennett.

“We’re part of a retrieval unit,” Harley said. “Our operation was to rescue Derek Hale from General Stilinski’s clutches. Bennett here is still running on his hunter-training which led to that standoff.”

“What about the conductor?” Derek asked. “Was he part of your operation?”

“No,” Harley said. “He’s part of HUSA.”

“What the hell is Who-sa?” Scott demanded.

“It stands for Hunters’ United States of America,” Bennett explained. “My father was a member. He’s the one who placed me under Kate Argent’s wing.” He turned to Derek. “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. My time with Argent’s compound only impressed upon me the necessity for rooting out the evil that is the hunters.”

“Where is the conductor anyway?” Harley asked.

Scott pointed over his shoulder. “He’s dead. He attacked me, and I happened to have a weapon on my person.”

“One less problem for us to solve,” she remarked. “So, we’re getting close to our destination now. Bennett and I are going to bail here. You’re welcome to either drive the train in or wait until they find a new engineer.”

“I may have done a lot of things during my time in the Rebel Alliance but piloting a train was not one of them. We’ll hop lines.” Scott ushered Derek toward Isaac. “I expect that there will be a number of soldiers when the train stops. I think it’d be best if none of us were here. It’s bad enough that the other passengers will give statements.”

“Are they going to blame me?” Derek asked. He was the only supernatural being on this train. Logically, he knew if there were any hunters when the train stopped, he would be shot on sight.

“No,” Scott said, but it was a lie that Derek didn’t need his senses to hear. He understood, mostly. He was expendable, blamable, and killable.

He wasn’t worth as much as a human. In fact, his only quality was that Stiles had married him.

Softly, he asked, “Are they going to kill me?”

“Not if I can help it,” Scott said, finally a truth.

“We’ll do what we can to dispel any rumors,” Harley promised. “Can’t say that it’ll make a difference.”

“Any help is appreciated.”

“Well, this is our stop. No offense, General, but I hope we never see each other again.” Harley threw up a crisp salute that Bennett copied.

Scott saluted back. “None taken. Godspeed on your journey.” He turned to Isaac. “Do you have all our things?”

“I have the trunk.” Isaac pointed over his shoulder. “It’s right here. Can I ask a stupid question?”

“Go for it.”

“How are we supposed to get off the train if it’s not slowing down?”

“We jump.”

“What about the other passengers?”

“Not my problem,” Harley said.

“But it is,” Isaac said. “You’re the engineer. You’re the one abandoning your post. You have to make sure the people in your charge are safe.”

“Listen, kid,” Harley snapped, “I’m the one, along with Bennett here, who’s going to take the fall for the dead conductor. I’m not sticking around to risk my neck for a bunch of saps who’d just as likely turn me in as thank me for helping save them.”

“So you’d just let them all die?”

Harley glared at Isaac. “If I apply the brake, do you think you can let me leave then, Mr. Hero?”

“It would be preferable,” Isaac grumbled.

Scott set his hand on Isaac’s shoulder. “It’s the right thing to do,” he told Harley, “and you know it. The conductor was acting alone. The passengers are innocents.”

“I’m going,” Harley said. “Don’t blame me when HUSA catches you.” She ducked back into the engine, engaging the brake quickly.

The wheels locked, throwing everyone forward. Scott yelled in pain as his leg slammed against the seats. Isaac popped up with a bloodied nose. Derek could hear the other passengers screaming and crying in pain. Bennett had braced himself, expecting Harley’s trick. He and Harley escaped while Derek drew Scott’s pain and Isaac secured their trunk.

“The train is going to derail,” Scott told Derek. “I need you to stop it.”

“Why me? I don’t know anything about trains.”

“You have more strength that the rest of us. If Harlowe sabotaged the brake, I’ll need you to fix it. Then, I want you to slow the train in increments. Hurry.”

There was no time for Derek to argue: he could hear the strain of the metal pinning the wheels in place. If those broke, the force would throw the train off the tracks.

He leaped into the engine, roaring with his shift. He found the brake, noting that it had been jammed and not broken. He pulled it up gently. When it was fully open again, he began easing it down again. The train still slowed jerkily, but no one was screaming anymore aside from a few young children still frightened from the initial braking.

Scott and Isaac joined him, and Scott gripped his shoulder. “Good job. Thank you, Derek.”

Isaac held his sleeve to his nose, smearing the blood there. “Thank you,” he said thickly. “I don’t think I could have stood it if we’d left all those people to die.”

“It greatly decreases our chance at getting away before someone sees us, but I’m glad we stayed.” Scott patted Derek’s head. “Come on, kiddo. We’ve got to go now.”

“But the train isn’t stopped yet,” Derek protested. He was aware of his fangs poking out of his mouth as he eased the brake down another notch.

Isaac closed his hand around the brake. “Go find someone who will do this,” he said. “If you can’t, I’ll stay. Besides, I can put the blame back where it belongs.”

“We’re not leaving you behind.” Scott rolled his eyes, but Derek could smell the fear and nervousness clinging to Scott as he stood behind him.

“I’ll do it,” someone said behind them.

Derek whirled around to stare at the small-statured creature standing in the doorway. She reminded him of Simon with her lack of height. Unlike Simon though, she still looked as if she were a child.

“I have the strength,” she said. “I’m actually a lot older than I look.” She moved to the brake and gripped it. Derek stepped back, letting her take over. He could tell she wasn’t human, but he didn’t know what she was. “Vampire is the closest thing to me,” she said to his inquiring look. “You’d better go before the authorities catch up to you.”

“It’s slowed enough that the rest of the passengers should be safe now,” Isaac said. “We can go.”

“It’ll still hurt to jump,” Derek warned Scott. “I can pull the pain if it’s too bad.”

Scott nodded. “We’ll do that. We need to move fast when we hit the ground. Derek, you go first. Isaac is going to throw the trunk to you. He’ll jump second, and I’ll come last. As soon as we’re all mobile, we need to get away. There’s a secondary line about ten miles east of here. It’s not a direct route to our destination, but there’s less security on the lines. It also means that the hunters are more prominent on that line.”

“I don’t think it matters,” Isaac said. “We were attacked on this line. Why is that one any different?”

“Maybe since they’re focused on this line, they’ll leave the other one alone,” the almost-vampire suggested.

“True,” Scott agreed. “Thank you for taking over the brake.”

She shrugged. “It’s something to do. That’s the only reason I ride the trains: there’s nothing else for me to do.”

“Well, we appreciate it, as do the other passengers, I’m sure.”

“Go on. The more time you waste gabbing with me, the less time you have to get ahead.”

Scott ushered Isaac and Derek back into the carriage. “My crutches?” he asked. Isaac grabbed them from where he’d hidden them under one of the seats. “Okay. We need to get on the roof. It’s the shortest path to getting outside the car so we can jump.”

He used one of the crutches to poke open a hatch in the ceiling. “Derek, up you go. Isaac will hand you the trunk. Pull us up.”

With Scott directing, they all end up balanced between the carriage and the engine.

“There’s a curve up ahead. Jumping there would be ideal because the train has to slow even more,” Scott explained. “Derek, you’ll jump here. Catch up to the train, and we’ll try to hand the trunk down to you. Leave it there and we’ll all come back for it. Okay?”

Derek leapt from train instead of answering. He hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs with a whoosh. He popped up, spitting out the mouthful of dirt and dry grass he’d gotten when his face drove into the loose soil. The train was already almost a dozen yards ahead, and he had to run to catch up.

He managed to take the trunk from Isaac, and he stopped to set it down. Then, he ran again, pulling level with the train as it entered the curve. The brakes squealed from the pressure applied, and the train dropped a few more miles in speed.

Isaac was able to step off the train with more grace than Derek had managed. Scott however got hung up on the railing, dangling off the train while Derek tried to disentangle him.

Derek tugged too hard, Scott’s scream of pain echoing in his ears long after the general had fallen free, crumpled into a heap in the dust. Derek clapped a hand over Scott’s calf, drawing as much pain as he dared. He was lightheaded when Isaac shoved him away, and Scott was still whimpering.

“I can carry him,” Derek said. “We need to move now.”

Isaac hefted Scott’s crutches. “I’ll drag the trunk. We’ll be leaving a lot of tracks but that can’t be helped right now.”

“All we need to do is get to the other train.” Derek managed to roll Scott onto his back, pulling him up and over his shoulder.

Scott was dead weight, unable to help them at all. His head lolled against Derek’s and his breath came in harsh pants. Derek couldn’t afford to pull any pain from him right now. He needed all his energy to make it to the next train.

“Scott said it was east, right?” he asked Isaac.

“Yeah. Ten miles. I don’t think we’re going to make it.”

Derek paused to scent the air. He could smell something akin to happiness. Citrus? Did citrus grow on trees? It didn’t matter, he decided, facing Isaac again. “We’re alone. I think we’ll be better off if we can find somewhere to hide while Scott recovers. We can erase our tracks then. If they don’t have any supernaturals helping them, we will be fine.”

Isaac nodded. “It’ll have to do.”

“Are you in charge or am I?” Derek wondered.

“You’re married to a general,” Isaac pointed out. “I think you have seniority. Also, your senses are stronger than mine. You’ll be able to hear and smell danger before me.”

“Okay.” Derek shifted Scott so he could point. “There’s a grove of citrus trees over that ridge, maybe five hundred yards. We can hide in the trees and the scent should mask us.”

“Is there something I can use to obscure our tracks?”

“I’ll look, but we might have to just settle for brushing them away.”

Isaac grunted in agreement, and the rest of the trek was spent in silence aside from Scott’s labored breaths.

In the heart of the grove, there was a dilapidated foundation, worn with time. Here, Derek set Scott down and Isaac opened the trunk to pass him a few spare clothes to use as bedding.

Then, Isaac broke off a branch of scraggly brush and set about wiping away their tracks.

Derek lied next to Scott, head against his shoulder, hands pressed against his chest, pulling pain until there was nothing left in him, his vision whited out, ears ringing. He could taste blood on his lips, but he didn’t know where it’d come from.

By the time Isaac returned, Derek had rolled away from Scott and was dry heaving into the dirt while Scott finally eased into a restful doze.

“Hey, hey.” Isaac rubbed circles on Derek’s back before digging a flask that smelled strongly of whiskey from the trunk. “This should help. Just a small swallow.”

The liquid burned going down, and Derek’s body rejected it. He twisted sharply, hunching down as he vomited. It burned worse coming back.

But, when he sat up and wiped at his mouth, his head was clear. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely, throat slow to heal a nonessential wound.

Isaac nodded, plucking at the dried blood on his shirt. “I think we should wait for Scott to recover as long as you think we’re safe for now.”

“He knows the area better than I do.”

“I’ve never been out of Beacon Hills until now,” Isaac admitted. “Yeah. We’re waiting for Scott. We should take turns being on watch.”

“I’ll go first. That way if the hunters come after us we’ll know it sooner.”

“Good idea.”

Isaac sat down, leaning against the foundation. He closed his eyes, and only a short time later was snoring softly.

Derek crept out of the grove, settling near the tree with the most fruit for his watch. He plucked a few bruised fruits from the ground and ate them, rind and all. Now he smelled like the grove.

He faced into the wind, one ear focused on Scott and Isaac and their rear, the other focused on any movement in the grass.

No one was going to surprise them. Not as long as he was on watch.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think I've forgotten to tag for something, please let me know.


	13. Ten

~ * ~

The town was supposed to be just a single building, what used to be a general store. Now, however, the place was humming with activity. In the center of town, surrounding the old building, was a very familiar sight.

Stiles sighed. Looked like he’d found his part of the mission already.

The hunter’s compound was larger than Kate Argent’s, but that could be due to the fact that it was out in the wide open space of Idaho while Kate’s had been crammed into an urban climate.

Either way, Stiles was here, and since there was no cover, he would undoubtedly be discovered before long.

His twenty minutes had just been punched down to zero.

Stiles ducked back down the ridge, hurriedly loading the gun. He flipped the safety off, waiting for any alert guards to sound the alarm.

Minutes later, he heard a shout go up, and he reflexively curled down more.

This far away, he couldn’t hear the exact orders, but when no sniper shots immediately peppered his position, he cautiously poked his head up.

The compound was busy, yes, but all the guards were climbing onto ATVs. Stiles pulled back again, listening to the roar of the motors as the hunters dispersed. None of them seemed headed in his direction, and after a long ten minutes, he popped up yet again and made his way, belly crawling, with the gun in his outstretched hand, to the compound.

It was a ridiculously easy to break in, much as Kate’s compound had been.

Once the armed guards were drawn away with a diversion tactic, in this case, looking for the very threat that was now inside the grounds, it left the core of the compound open and vulnerable.

Surely the hunters were not stupid enough to have designed each of their strongholds in this manner?

Stiles’ experience with Kate’s compound indicated that one was an incident. Looking at Gerard’s empty compound, he concluded that two was a coincidence. Three was a pattern. If he found the third, he’d get his answer.

Stiles remembered the file Kira had given him. He’d scanned it but been unable to read it fully due to the commotion with the conductor.

He seemed to recall something about a single level compound. And there was the damn pattern. The hunters were definitely overconfident and quite stupid to boot.

Why _were_ the hunters still in power in the rest of the United Coalition if they were all this stupid? They had better weapons sure, but they never used their greatest asset: the supernatural creatures in their compounds. Stiles was trained to disarm a human in under a second. He hadn’t been trained to avoid evisceration by claws. If Derek chose to, he could do a lot of damage with his teeth and his claws, even though he was only a thirteen-year-old kid.

But, hunters were so specist that they would rather imprison and abuse what could have been their ticket to success. Instead, Stiles would make sure it was their downfall, destruction, and their grave.

Not a single hunter would escape his wrath, not just for what they did to Derek and his family, but for all the hurt they had inflicted over everyone, for tearing the country into pieces and leaving swaths of blood over everything they touched.

He would fight again for all the children torn from their families and sold into slavery. For all the Heathers and Dannys and Jacksons of the states.

He would murder them in cold blood for all the soldiers that the hunters had made them become and for all the death they had orchestrated.

Stiles shook his head and rolled his shoulders. There would be time for that later. Right now, he needed to retrieve Kate’s journal.

Even though there was no one left to run into, Stiles still erred on the side of caution and crept carefully. He was under no illusion that the hunters hadn’t left their prisoners here. Stiles did not need some supernatural trying to ease a punishment hearing him and alerting the hunters.

But, when he turned a corner, heading for where the offices, or in Kate’s case, a throne room, were located, he found himself face to face with a withered old man.

The man was thin, frail from something ravaging his body. Probably a form of cancer. Whatever it was, it wasn’t killing him fast enough.

“Hello,” the man said, smiling sharply. His eyes, beady and black, glittered in his sunken face. “You’re a new face.”

Stiles nodded.

“Drew the short straw, eh?” the man pressed. “Have to protect the doddering old man?”

Something sparked in Stiles’ memory, a long buried incident that he had worked hard to put behind himself. He wondered then, how he could have ever not recognized the man standing before him. The eyes were the same even if the body wasn’t. Stiles jerked his gun up to point at the man. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve been sent to kill you, Gerard Argent.”

The man clapped once, his grin fading into something a little more demented than delighted. “Well done, General Stilinski. I was beginning to think I would have to lead you to the right conclusion.”

“I’ll admit, I almost didn’t recognize you,” Stiles admitted. “It’s been, what, fifteen years since I last saw you.” He eyed the man’s shriveled physique. “Can’t say time agreed with you.”

“Come now, surely you don’t still resent me for what happened then?” Gerard said. “After all, what can you do with rambunctious twelve year olds?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe not lock them in a cage because you think a pixie has possessed them.” Stiles shook off the memory. He didn’t need the distraction now. All it had done anyway was fuel his desire to take down the hunters’ empire.

Gerard shrugged. “Sorry.”

“You say that now. How sorry will you be when I pull the trigger and kill you?”

“What? Don’t you want the cancer to finish the job? Keep your precious hands clean?”

Stiles snorted, not amused. “My hands were never clean. I came into this world taking lives, and I intend to leave it the same way.”

“Shame,” Gerard noted. “Well, I suppose if you’re going to do it, you’d better do it now before the others get back.”

Gerard stepped forward, and Stiles pressed the barrel against his chest, centered on his heart.

The journal was the only thing staying his hand. Gerard mistook his hesitation for cowardice and taunted him.

“I bet you don’t have the guts to pull the trigger.”

Stiles shook his head. “I need something from you, but I have a feeling I can get it even if you’re nothing but a corpse.”

“Are you sure you want to test that theory? Why don’t you just pull the trigger already! I can feel myself dying while you’re wasting time.”

“Where would it be?” Stiles muttered to himself, ignoring Gerard. It only served to anger the man further, and he slapped his hand onto the gun, wrestling it off his chest and toward his head.

“Just shoot me,” he growled.

“Now, why would I do that?” Stiles asked. “You seem to need me more than I need you. Why is that?” He pretended to be shocked when Gerard glowered. “What was your code again? Kill those who oppose you? And isn’t there a stipulation that you can’t die unless you’ve been taken off the front line? oh, but that would mean, you need me to kill you or you can’t die until either the cancer kills you or your hunters get tired of taking orders from a decrepit old shell.”

“Just fucking shoot me already!” Gerard snapped. “Come on, boy!” When Stiles still didn’t pull the trigger, Gerard smiled. “That’s what I thought. No backbone in you, boy.”

“No backbone, eh? Say hello to your daughter for me.”

The bang was satisfying.

Gerard died with a look of rage and shock on his face.

Stiles rifled through his pockets, pulling wads of currency, a pack of rolled papers, and a thin black book from Gerard’s pockets.

Stiles shoved the currency in his bag. Coalition money was mostly useless, printed on recycled newspapers and backed by nothing more than the government’s promise. Freed states bartered goods and services for ration papers. But, if Braeden needed funds so badly that she wanted to turn him in for a ransom, then she could deal with the headache of these bills.

The rolled papers could be coded messages, so Stiles stashed them in his bag as well.

That left the book. Stiles flipped it open, tracing his own name scribbled on one of the first pages. Underneath his name were three figures, two of them crossed out. Huh, he thought, a little hysterically, he was worth eighty-thousand marks to the Coalition.

This was definitely Kate’s journal. Stiles recognized the bloody glove print he’d left the first time he had collected this item.

Someone, probably Gerard, had circled it, drawing an arrow to the second figure.

Killing Kate had doubled the bounty on his head. Being promoted to General had raised it another two thousand marks.

On the next page, Stiles found Scott’s name. His bounty was a mere seventeen thousand marks. But, added below that was a name that made Stiles’ breath catch in his throat.

Melissa McCall.

Stiles flipped through the rest of the pages but could find no other mention of Scott’s mom.

Information. He needed information.

Stiles fisted a hand in his hair, tugging at it in frustration.

He needed information from Gerard, who was definitely dead.

Shit.

Unless Gerard had already given him what he needed…

Stiles pulled the pack of rolled papers back out and used a thumbnail to peel one of them open.

It was in code, but all Rebel Alliance soldiers had been taught how to read the hunter code. Another mark of overconfidence or stupidity since they hadn’t bothered to create a new code once their old one was cracked.

This first paper included battle details. Tennessee, the other free state, was going to be put under siege in less than a month’s time. Stiles made a mental note to get that information to Kira and Braeden as soon as possible.

None of the other papers contained anything useful. They mostly pertained to Gerard seeking a replacement for his position so that he could spend the rest of his days, numbered at this point, waiting to die.

A footnote on the last page stated that Gerard wanted his possession destroyed at his retirement.

What could that possibly mean?

Stiles knew he couldn’t leave here before he turned every room inside out. If there was even a chance that he could free the prisoners, he’d take it.

He didn’t know when the hunters would return, but he knew it couldn’t be long. He still had sixteen bullets. Fifteen if he didn’t count the one earmarked for him.

Standing around staring at Gerard’s body wasn’t doing anybody any good. Stiles pocketed the journal and tucked the coded papers away, hefting his bag, and picking a room at random.

He took a pen from his bag and made a tiny checkmark near the bottom of the door. A way to make sure he searched each room only once.

He took a deep breath and pushed his way inside.

~ * ~

Stiles found Melissa in the third room he entered. She was naked, starved to the point where he could count her ribs just by looking at her. Her hair was so tangled, it would probably need to be cut off instead of salvaging it.

She jerked awake when he touched her ankle, blinking and squinting in the bright afternoon light falling through the window. She saw Stiles and started whimpering, fighting weakly, chains on her wrists rattling as she sluggishly struggled.

Stiles cast about until he found a shawl draped over a rocking chair. He froze momentarily at the sight of a tiny cradle by its side. He glanced back at Melissa, chained to the bed, crying silently now that she had exhausted herself.

“Hey,” he said soothingly. Melissa shook her head, letting out a bleat of terror as he moved closer. Stiles stopped moving, letting her settle a bit before he said, “Hey,” again.

The noise she made sounded as if she was wounded somewhere, but Stiles couldn’t see any open wounds on her despite the obvious mistreatment she had been put through. Her face was heavily bruised, one cheek sunken in, almost black with the damage done. When she blinked, one eye closed slower than the other, making her already lopsided face look wrong in a way it never had.

He stroked her other, mostly unblemished cheek, skirting the scratch running across her face.

“Melissa? Hey, Melissa, are you with me yet?”

She shuddered in his arms, making that wounded noise again.

There was no way he was getting out of here with her like that. He couldn’t make her understand that she needed to be silent. He dug into his bag, pulling out the tranquilizers he still carried.

Tranqs were standard on reconnaissance missions, and Stiles always kept a few on him at all times should he require the need to keep a prisoner alive.

Or knock out his friend’s mom during her rescue. Jesus but he was the bad guy wasn’t he? He was Derek’s villain, no matter Scott’s assurances that the boy had never truly held his forced marriage against him.

Perhaps Braeden had the right idea, distrusting Stiles and sending him into a situation that would likely result in his death. He could at least become a martyr then, and his pension would come to his widowed husband.

Stiles shook himself. This was still not the time to be distracted. Melissa was counting on him to keep a level head. Hell, _he_ was counting on his ability to compartmentalize and do his fucking job.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, popping the cap and stabbing it deep in her thigh. Melissa whimpered before sagging, eyes sliding halfway closed, breathing labored and whistling.

He hoped it would correct itself as he got her out of here. There should be an ATV left for Gerard somewhere. He could hide Melissa outside while he searched. The fresh air should help revive her.

The window was nailed shut, but a few twists with his knife and he had it leveraged open. Melissa shivered in her sleep, and Stiles wrapped the shawl tighter about her, hefting her up in his arms again.

Outside, the grass was dry, crunching underneath his boots. He was leaving a trail a baby could follow. Hunters would have no trouble finding him at all. Except, he had been in the compound for over an hour now. Surely the hunters had discovered Gerard’s body by now? Stiles hadn’t even tried to hide it.

He wrinkled his nose, sniffing deeply. Times like this were the only times he would ever admit, to himself only, that it would be helpful to have enhanced senses. Derek would be able to tell him what the hunters were doing right now. He thought he smelled smoke, but the unwashed body odor of Melissa stuck in his nose.

For being nothing more than skin and bones, she weighed a lot. He was definitely out of practice.

Stiles vowed to start training again as soon as he was back in California.

He started walking again. Where had the hunters gotten their ATVs from? Hadn’t they just been sitting out in the open? There were none around here, and aside from the renovated general store, there were no buildings. Where the hell did the hunters live? All the rooms in the compound were dedicated to ready-rooms and storage. The room Melissa had been in was the most like quarters, with the bed and the chair. And the cradle.

The reminder of it had him shifting Melissa until he could brush a hand over her concaved stomach. There was no child now, but that meant little unless Stiles could ask Melissa if she’d given birth recently.

He did not want to think of the alternative, but the cradle had been empty, unused. If Melissa had been pregnant, she was not now. Stiles didn’t know how that contributed to her skittishness now, and he mourned the loss of the woman who had raised him.

She was broken. Maybe more than the rest of them, including Derek, and Stiles did not know how to help her.

He didn’t even know how to help himself most days.

The Rebel Alliance was only just starting to increase the funding for mental illnesses suffered by its soldiers, and the hunter army had never acknowledged it.

In fact, the hunters believed that those suffering from depression were supernatural sympathizers. Heather had been diagnosed when she was thirteen. She was dead by fifteen.

PTSD wasn’t even a whisper in the hunter army. To do so was to sign one’s own death certificate. PTSD was the failure to see supernaturals as less than human and was used to weed the “weak” from their ranks.

One of Stiles’ first assignments had been to abduct a high ranking official of the Arizona faction of hunters, a man by the name of Chris Argent.

Intel said Chris, Gerard’s son, wanted to defect. That he had snapped after he had been forced to kill a family of werefoxes hiding in the desert. Before Stiles could retrieve him, the Calavera clan, led by their matriarch Araya, had caught Chris at the border between California and Arizona. By the time Stiles tracked them, all that was left was a bloodstain and a necklace with the Argent crest.

It had come to light a few weeks later that Chris had been suffering from PTSD after a life filled with assignments much like Stiles’. Stiles always told himself that Chris was dead because he couldn’t compartmentalize, but that was a lie, because Stiles could compartmentalize but he still felt like he was rolling down a hill that was only getting steeper. At the bottom was either salvation or death.

The closer Stiles came to it, the more he thought it was death.

Stiles looked around the compound again. There was nothing here for him. He couldn’t carry Melissa all the way back to the train station, and certainly not with the conductor still loose.

He could hole up in one of the rooms in the compound, salvage what he could, and wait for either Kira or Braeden to find him.

Melissa moaned in her sleep, and Stiles decided then. Even if it killed him, he was getting her to safety. Nevada was becoming a neutral territory. She would be safest there.

As he turned to go to the front gates, he thought he heard something buzzing around him.

The return of the hunters at last? That buzzing was definitely mechanical in nature. Although, it only sounded like one.

Stiles hurried as best he could back toward Melissa’s prison. If he could get her inside, he could make a stand. He still had sixteen bullets. Screw taking one himself. If he needed to die before capture, the three remaining tranqs were more than enough to finish him off.

Getting Melissa back inside was easier than it had been to get her out, and Stiles laid her on the bed, grabbing a thin blanket to cover her with since the shawl seemed more for decoration than warmth.

She seemed comfortable, eyes shut completely, breathing even. Stiles sighed in relief. If he’d accidentally killed her, he didn’t know that he could face Scott again. She was safe. For now. How long that would last, he didn’t know. The sound of the ATV was still getting louder. It might only be minutes.

As he pulled back, to set a post by the window, Melissa grabbed his wrist.

“Stiles?” she rasped. Her eyes were still closed, but she was smiling, tears running down her face.

“Yeah, Mel, it’s me.”

“Stiles.” Her grip tightened almost painfully, fingers digging in. “My little Stiles. I’ve dreamed of this day for so long.”

She struggled up, leaning heavily against him. The movement winded her, and she gasped for breath while he made sure the blanket still covered her.

“Is Scott here?”

She opened her eyes in time to catch his wince.

“Scott?”

“Is fine,” he said. “He’s in southern California.”

“What’s he doing there? Why isn’t he back in Beacon Hills?”

“He’s looking after my husband while I finish up some business.”

“Husband?” Melissa laughed, a soft chuckle that devolved into a wet cough. “You got married and didn’t invite me?”

“Well, it was kind of spur of the moment,” Stiles said, “and about five months ago now.”

“Five months,” Melissa repeated quietly. “I’ve been here for three years now.” She drew away from him, curling onto her side. Stiles left her alone, recognizing the need to process information.

He settled in at the window, gun held loosely in his hand, watching the darkening sky.

The darkness was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it would help hide them from potential enemies, but on the other side of that, he was just as blind as the hunters. Probably more so since they would have equipment to combat that handicap.

The ATV roared into the compound, spinning in a half circle until it was pointed right at the window. Stiles stood still, aware that he was slightly visible from where he stood.

He could see two hunters on the vehicle, both wearing helmets with shaded visors.

The driver dismounted, stalking toward the compound.

At the doorway, he yanked off his helmet and cast it down, yelling, “Gerard! I know you’re in there! Come out and face me!”

Stiles froze. That was not a hunter.

Chris Argent drew his foot back and kicked his helmet into the doors. “Gerard, come out or I’m coming in to get you!”

Stiles couldn’t move. Chris Argent wasn’t dead? But how? The Calaveras were not known for their clemency.

“Last chance, Gerard!”

Melissa sat up. “Where is Gerard?” she asked fearfully. “How did you get in here? Is this all just a dream?” Her eyes widened, and Stiles knew she was staring at him in horror, but all he could see was the way the sunset bathed her in reds and oranges so deep she looked more like the dream she accused him of being.

“Pretty sure Chris Argent means that this is a dream,” he said softly. “Shush now. We can’t give our position away.”

He moved from the window, slipping from shadow to deepening shadow until he was able to ease the door open. Melissa slid from the bed and crawled under it.

Stiles knew the moment Chris came across his father’s corpse because the ex-hunter shot it three times.

Stiles looked back at Melissa, at her quivering form, and took a guess at where the third bullet had struck.

“Hello?” Chris called. Stiles knew he was sweeping the rooms. It’s what Stiles had done until he found Melissa. “Are you still here?”

“Who are you talking to?” the second rider asked.

Female.

Chris’ wife, Victoria?

No, too young sounding. Plus, Stiles himself had put a bullet between that cold hearted bitch’s eyes when she refused to call off a summit that would have enabled individual compounds to run breeding stock all across the Coalition.

Her death had facilitated the involvement of Rhode Island and New York in seceding from the Coalition.

So far, only Tennessee and California had succeeded in establishing their own governments, especially because Rhode Island had been assimilated into Connecticut and Massachusetts while New York was busy fighting Vermont and Pennsylvania.

Stiles remembered the file on Chris. Wife Victoria. Father Gerard. Sister Kate. Daughter Allison.

Three members of Chris’ family deceased, murdered by Stiles’ hand.

In one of Scott’s letters, he mentioned Allison, a young woman of maybe eighteen, who had confronted Derek maybe a month ago.

The female rider saying, “Dad?” confirmed Stiles’ suspicions. He raised his gun, finger beside the trigger. She gasped, and Stiles could imagine her coming across her grandfather. Three more gunshots followed, and Stiles stifled a hysterical laugh in his elbow.

“Your grandfather is gone,” Chris said. “But, the work he was doing…as long as even one of those scum still breathes, then the Association of Hunters could rise again.”

“Why is this compound empty?” Allison asked, tone strangely detached. “Is it usual to leave the leader unattended?”

“No. There must have been a call out. Hunters are glory hounds. As if there is ever any glory in oppressing another person.”

“You used to be a hunter. The foster home I was sent to was a hunter faction that kept ties with Kate. Don’t tell me what hunters are.”

“That’s far enough,” Stiles said gruffly. “One more step and I’ll shoot.”

“General Stilinski,” Chris said. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“And a surprise to hear yours,” Stiles replied. “So, you’re not a hunter again, I take it.”

“No. Do I have you to thank for the demise of my father?”

“Yes.”

“No to be blunt, but why?”

“He took something of mine. I wanted it back.”

“What could he have possibly taken from you?” Allison demanded. She and her father stepped into view, and Stiles waved them into the room. Melissa made a noise like a startled animal and covered her head with the blanket. Stiles moved so that he was between her and his guests.

“Just one of my parental figures,” Stiles said flippantly. He crossed his arms and stared at Allison.

“It’s not Father Stilinski,” Chris said. “Mrs. McCall?”

Stiles nodded.

“She’s under the bed right now. I need to get her out of here and back to California.”

Chris nodded sharply. “I can take you. I’ve been meaning to talk to the council there, see if they need an ex-hunter who can tell the secrets of those bastards.”

Stiles glanced around the room before pointing at the cradle. “How much did you know about what your father did?”

Chris sighed. “More than I wanted to, but not enough. This shouldn’t be as ignored as it is. We thought that compounds like this were abnormal, that the supernatural beings housed within were treated as fairly as they could be considering they were dangerous and could kill us all if they wanted to.”

“Garrison Myers,” Allison said.

“Sweetheart?” Chris frowned at her. “Who’s that?”

Allison shook her head. “Just some name Derek Hale gave me.”

“What did he tell you about him?”

Allison stood up, tugging at her shirt and adjusting the crossbow on her back. “He said he was an investigator for the hunter compounds. He said my aunt had something on him that she used to blackmail him into giving her the highest rating she could get.”

“His son,” Chris said. “In 1989, four years after the second civil war began, Garrison Myers fathered a son with a werefox spy. The boy’s name was William Myers.”

“Wait,” Stiles said. “A werefox?” He paused at the absolute pain he could see written on Chris’ face.

“Yes,” the man said softly, blinking quickly, tears in his eyes. “Garrison Myers’ family was discovered in Arizona eleven years ago. No one knew how a supernatural family had managed to survive when they were so close to a compound. It was decided that the leader of that compound had been negligent and had failed to secure his zone.”

“You,” Stiles said, understanding. Allison’s face became haunted.

“Dad,” she said, voice thick with tears. “No, Dad, you didn’t.”

Chris sighed, wiping at his face. “I didn’t kill them, no,” he said. “But, I didn’t save them either. I found their den after a visit from Kate. She’d planted evidence that I had been the one to pull the trigger. It was her way of protecting me from the wrath of the other hunters.” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t let them get away with it.”

“So you turned evidence,” Stiles said. “I was sent to retrieve you.”

“I resented that, you know.” Chris laughed, hollow and bitter, and also strangely relieved. “Here I was, the major general’s son, and they sent a kid fresh from recruit training to bring me in. I thought it was divine intervention when the Calaveras came after me too.”

“What happened with them?” Stiles asked. “I got to your last known coordinates and you weren’t there. Your body wasn’t there.”

“Funny thing about humans, if you take something they love from them, they’ll stop at nothing to get it back.” Chris chuckled wryly. “And if they can’t get it back, they’ll make you regret taking it.”

“Garrison Myers,” Allison said again, anger and bitterness burning in her voice.

Chris nodded. “He killed Araya’s right hand man, and instead of more bloodshed, she offered him a deal: a chance at the real monster, Kate, to let me go. Last I saw of him, he’d just shot Araya in the throat. I used the distraction it offered to escape.

“I’m not proud of the man I was or the things I did, but I made a promise to myself that I would change the world for the better. I made it to Tennessee, where they made me stand trial for the murder of Myers’ family. I was acquitted of that atrocity, but I voluntarily stayed in their rehabilitation program. I wanted to start restitution for the wrongs I’d done. I know I’ll never be done paying, but I also know I’ll never go back. If I have to die to prove it, then I will.”

“We’ve spent too long here,” Stiles said. “I should have been back at the train station by now. I’m sure they’ve shut everything down.”

“Can you ride?” Allison asked. “My dad can take Mrs. McCall on his ATV and I can find another.”

“I can ride, and not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t trust you. Melissa will ride with me.”

“I understand.” Chris clapped Stiles on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, General.”

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting a day early this week because I will be busy all day tomorrow. I apologize if there are mistakes. I briefly looked it over and tried to match my timeline. If you find any glaring errors, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you to all who read!


	14. Eleven

~ * ~

Within an hour, Scott had roused, and as soon as they’d packed the trunk, he led them toward the second tracks.

Derek pulled a bit of pain from Scott every fifteen yards, but he was careful not to overexert himself again.

They made it to the tracks uncontested. As near as Derek could tell, there were no hunters nearby. He couldn’t smell the aconite many of them carried.

“There’s a station up ahead.” Scott pointed. “We’ll buy more tickets there. Not a word out of either of you.”

Derek shrugged. He was used to being silent. The months away from Mas—Kate hadn’t affected him fully yet.

Isaac was also able to remain silent when they trudged up to the ticket booth. A young man slid the tickets to Scott with little glances toward a hunched figure hiding poorly behind a large potted plant.

Scott thanked him and settled on an empty bench. Isaac sat on one side, and Derek took the other. He started to draw Scott’s pain, but Scott grabbed his wrist.

“Not right now,” he hissed.

Derek pulled back. He understood. The person behind the plant was still watching them. If it was a hunter, then Derek taking Scott’s pain would have given them away.

“The train will be here in twenty minutes,” Scott said. “Once we’re on the train, I want you to both to rest. We’ll be safe then.”

“I’m hungry,” Isaac said softly. “Can I have a sandwich?”

Scott plucked one from the depths of the trunk, passing it to him. He handed another to Derek.

It was bread smeared with a tart sauce Scott called “jam.” Derek didn’t like it much, but he still dutifully ate it, understanding that he would need the energy it provided. Isaac seemed to like the jam more, and when Scott offered them both another sandwich, Isaac took it happily.

The train, still a few miles out, blew its whistle, and Derek hid his face against Scott’s shoulder. It was too loud and it hurt his ears. He wished he still had the hat from the witch, but he wasn’t sure where Scott had put it when they were packing. Scott patted at his head, running his fingers through his hair.

“We still need to get you a haircut,” he said, fingers tangling on a snarl.

Isaac ate Derek’s second sandwich, mumbling through a mouthful, “I can do it. I cut my dad’s and my hair all the time.”

“I like my hair,” Derek said. “Please don’t take it away.”

“It’s just hair,” Isaac said. “It’ll grow back.”

Scott shook his head, still stroking Derek’s head. “We won’t do anything you don’t want. If you want to keep your hair long, you’ll have to start brushing it.”

The train pulled into the station, brakes hissing and squealing as it stopped.

Scott waited for the few people milling about to board before he stood up, using Derek for support as much as his crutches. Isaac dragged the trunk and shoved it up the steps. Derek bit his tongue to stop from offering to just lift and carry it. He was aware of the figure, an older man, hurrying after them.

It wasn’t until the man grabbed his arm and yanked him off the steps that Derek recognized him.

“Garrison Myers,” he said. He tried jerking free, but Myers tightened his grip.

“What’s going on?” Scott limped back to the platform. “Hey!” He slammed his crutch on Myers’ hand forcing him to relinquish his hold on Derek.

“This child is mine,” Myers snarled. He grabbed at Derek again, and again Scott smacked him.

“This child is no one’s,” he said coldly.

“I was promised a child to replace my son. This is the child I chose. Come, boy.”

“Again, this child is not yours to claim. He is his own person.”

Myers reached for Derek. “He’s a supernatural. You don’t want him. He’s mine. Come on, son. Come to me.”

Scott’s face twisted in anger and he pulled out his gun, aiming it at Myers. “Leave us alone,” he said, shoving Derek up the steps and into the carriage where Isaac dragged him to an empty seat.

The train’s whistle sounded, and Derek ducked his head, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the train was starting to pull away from the station, and Scott was next to him. On the platform, staring after them with hungry eyes, was Myers.

“It’s okay,” Scott said. “I won’t let him take you away.”

“What if he comes back later? What’s to stop him from trying again?”

“I’ll let Danny know that he’s been spotted. I’m sure the council would be extremely interested to know his whereabouts. If I remember correctly, he was an inspector for the hunter compounds.”

“Yes,” Derek said softly. “He was assigned to Master Kate’s compound.”

“No,” Scott said sharply. “We don’t call her that.”

Derek jumped at the outburst. “I’m sorry?”

“Kate Argent, we don’t call her anything except—”

“Dead?” Isaac interrupted.

Scott froze, shocked, and then he laughed. “Well, yes, she is dead.”

“Are the humans who ran the compounds going to face punishments?” Derek asked. He couldn’t imagine someone like Kate or Myers being held responsible for their actions. Kate _was_ dead though. Surely that was a punishment?

“As much as the Freed Republic of California can,” Scott said proudly. “Once I’m fully healed, I’ll join the force again. See if I can’t round up a few of those hunters that just keep sticking around.”

“Like the ones that destroyed Redding?” Isaac asked.

“Exactly.”

“The bite will heal you, if it takes,” Derek said. “There’s a chance it won’t work.”

“So you’ve said,” Scott said. “I’ll still take my chances.”

“What about me?” Isaac asked. “Can I get the bite too?”

“We can ask the council when we go to get my permission, but I don’t know.” Scott glanced at Derek. “The only reason they agreed to the marriage between Derek and Stiles was because Stiles made a case for protection.”

Silence stretched between them then, and Derek found he had an itch beneath his skin, something calling to him to move and keep moving, to make himself less of a target.

Thankfully, their carriage was empty, after most of the passengers moved when Derek climbed on. At least they were just humans, not a hunter among them.

He stood up, shaking out his arms and legs before starting to pace back and forth, all the way down the rows of seats and all the way up.

Scott leaned against the window and dozed off while Isaac watched Derek warily.

After nearly an hour of constant motion, Derek dropped into the seat next to Scott and pulled his pain again.

Scott woke with a snort, his gun, which Derek hadn’t realized he’d drawn, coming up to point at Derek’s forehead.

Derek stared into the eye of the barrel for a long moment before Scott jerked it down with a muttered, “Jesus!”

“All done?” he asked after a disconcerting pause. Derek nodded and pulled his hand back. Then, he stood up and resumed his pacing.

Isaac’s scent went acid, fear and anger mixing together in equal parts. Derek paused, turning to him.

“Are you scared of me too?” he asked softly. “Do you think I should be dead?”

“What? No!” Isaac frowned at him. “Why do you ask that?”

Scott smiled knowingly. “He can smell emotions,” he explained, and Isaac blanched.

“It’s not you,” he stammered, patting at Derek’s arm. With the way his heart was beating wildly, Derek couldn’t determine if that was a lie or not. Either way, he wasn’t feeling gracious, and responded by stomping to the end of the carriage and sinking into one of the seats. As soon as he was out of sight, he covered his face. It was difficult not to cry.

Isaac didn’t like him. Rationally, Derek knew he shouldn’t care. Isaac was just someone the generals knew, who helped him carry produce to Erica’s stand. It made Derek’s chest feel funny to think that there were people like Bennett, like Isaac, who would rather he’d stayed locked up in Master Kate’s compound.

“What’s really wrong?” Scott asked Isaac lowly. Derek cocked an ear.

“My dad,” Isaac said, just as softly. “He’s going to kill me when I get back to Beacon Hills. I don’t think it’ll matter if I’m a werewolf or not.”

“Why? Is it because of me?” Scott lowered his voice further, but Derek could still hear him. “Is it because of Derek?”

“Jesus, no,” Isaac said with a brittle-sounding laugh. “The only thing Derek is doing is reminding me of my father. He paces like him. I’m afraid that my father is going to pop out of nowhere and I’ll have another black eye to explain.”

Derek sat up. Isaac’s father hurt him? He frowned. Scott didn’t seem surprised, and thinking back on their hushed conversations when Isaac would help load produce, Derek thinks he shouldn’t have been surprised either. Maybe the council would agree to let Isaac have the bite as well. After all, they were trying to protect the citizens, right? It’s what they did with Derek and Stiles. It’s what they would do for Scott.

The least he could do was not make Isaac more uncomfortable by continuing to do something that he knew upset him. He stood up.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, settling next to Scott again. “I won’t do it again.”

“No, you’re fine,” Isaac protested. “Go ahead. Keep moving. I know weres like you have a lot energy you need to burn off.”

“Weres?” Derek asked. “No one calls us that. We’re always called supernaturals.”

“Well, yeah, but you specifically are a werewolf.”

“Hush,” Scott said, his phone against his ear. “Yeah, Erica, can you check something out for me? Good. I need you to look into Michael Lahey. Yeah, Isaac’s dad.” Scott paused, listening to Erica. Derek could hear her yelling, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. Scott nodded even though Erica couldn’t see him. “Good. Thank you.” Scott put the phone back into his pocket. “She said she’ll take care of it. Isaac, you won’t ever have to go back.”

Isaac laughed nervously. “What’s supposed to stop my dad from coming after me?” he asked. “No offense to Erica, but I don’t think she can exactly stop him.”

“Erica knows some people. If you think she doesn’t have her hand on the pulse of that town, then you don’t know Erica. Now, since this train isn’t as fast as the other, and we still have a long way to go, I’d suggest getting some rest.” Scott closed his eyes and leaned against the window.

Derek slipped out of his seat and headed to the back of the train, curling up on the last empty bench again.

He found that he could draw letters in the cover of the chair, and he spent a good bit of time amusing himself by spelling his name over and over until he drowsed off.

~ * ~

Derek woke up just before Isaac shook him.

“We’re coming up on one of the stops. Scott wants us all aware in case a hunter or Myers tries to get on.”

Derek followed Isaac back to their seats. Scott had his gun out, set on the seat next to his leg. “Sit by Isaac,” he instructed. “On the outside. Keep your claws handy, but don’t give yourself away.”

“Are we expecting the hunters to know where we are?” Derek asked.

“Well, in order to salvage as much metal for the war efforts, the Freed Republic shut down all other lines, breaking down the trains and the rails. So, yes, if we’re not on the fast-track, then the hunters can assume we’re here. Same with Myers.”

“Do you really think they’re going to attack us?”

“I don’t know, but I want to be prepared in case they do.”

Derek tensed. He couldn’t hear or smell any hunters, but there were too many people outside of the train already for him to be positive that they weren’t there as well. Besides, Myers hadn’t smelled like a hunter. Just an old man wrapped in grief.

“What did Myers mean that he was promised someone to replace his son?”

Scott waved his hand. “It was rumored that Myers had a family. A wife and son, both supernatural. When he was discovered, his family was killed.”

Derek settled back, thinking. “He married a supernatural?” he asked. “And had a child with her? But, why? He’s part of the hunters.”

“Some people who helped them didn’t believe in the hunters rules,” Scott said.

 “Or they didn’t think they applied to them,” Isaac added.

“‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing,’” Scott quoted.

Isaac snorted. “I think Myers did a bit more than nothing.”

“Hold on,” Scott said. “Ready?”

Derek strained his ears, listening to the passengers as they climbed on and off the train. In the engine room, the conductor and the engineer were discussing the locking brakes and if they should ask for a different train when they pulled into the Chula Vista station.

Scott tapped his gun against his knee, eyeing the passengers that filled their carriage. Derek squirmed in closer to Isaac to avoid being struck by an errant hand.

When they pulled away from the station, their carriage was full as were the carriages immediately in front of and behind theirs, and there were no hunters on the train.

Derek let his claws retract while Scott put his gun away.

“Tickets please,” the conductor said, and Scott presented them. Efficiently, the man punched a series of holes through all three tickets and passed them back. “Enjoy your travel, gentlemen.” The conductor tipped his hat at them, eyes going distinctly green.

A supernatural. Derek shot a questioning look at Scott, but he hadn’t seemed to notice the man’s gesture. He had recognized Derek then as a supernatural. It didn’t make Derek feel unsafe. Rather, it made him like this train a bit better despite the fact that he was now unable to burn off his excessive energy, and coming up on Chula Vista, where his family had been granted a plot of land, was making him nervous and sick with anticipation.

“Just rest,” Scott said, patting at Derek’s knee. Derek caught his hand, drawing pain from him as a way to help manage his growing anxiety. Scott pried his fingers off. “I said rest,” he said firmly. “That is not resting.”

“I can’t,” Derek protested. “Please?”

“Don’t pull too much,” Isaac said. “Or do. It’ll knock you out if you do.”

“Don’t,” Scott said. “Seriously.” He dug into the trunk and pulled out a stack of empty ration papers and a writing stick. “Practice your letters instead.”

Derek accepted the items, laying the papers on his lap and scratching at it with the stick. It did not help soothe his energy but at least he could print his name neater than Scott now.

~ * ~

The train passed through one more station before it pulled into Chula Vista. By the time they stopped and started, Derek was sick of writing. He’d filled nearly three pages with the alpha-beta, both big and small, and had learned how to spell Isaac’s name.

He was also starting to fight a growing headache from not being able to shift for so long.

Scott kept an eye on him even as he dozed fitfully, the pain of his body too much for him even if he wouldn’t let Derek draw it out.

Isaac found more sandwiches in the trunk and ate them all. His dad must have starved him nearly as bad as Kate had starved Derek for the way he kept cramming them into his mouth.

Without anything to distract him, Derek sat on his hands, struggling with his shift in a way that he hadn’t since he was a young pup and he was still as his mother’s side.

This close to where his family was made his pack bonds crackle in his veins. Isaac eyed him warily, wiping jam off his lips with a napkin Scott pulled from his pocket. Derek straightened, clenching his jaw, the growth of his fangs swelling his mouth.

Scott dropped a hand to his knee and squeezed. “Relax. You’re doing great.” He was lying.

Isaac leaned closer. “Your eyes keep flashing. If you don’t stop, you’re going to give us away.”

“I know that,” Derek bit out. “I’m sorry. I’m trying. I haven’t seen my family since before I was married. I’m not used to feeling them this strongly anymore.”

“Being near them makes you lose control?”

“No,” Scott answered. “He’s overwhelmed.” He pulled Derek into a hug. “It’s okay. Just breathe. We’ll be there soon.”

“If we don’t get busted,” Isaac muttered under his breath. Scott glared at him. “Isn’t southern California supposed to be safer for supernaturals?”

“It is but there’s still fighting taking place. At least this time the supernatural can fight back.”

“Aren’t supernaturals still limited though? Like, if a supernatural ends up killing a human, aren’t they treated worse than if a human kills a supernatural?” Isaac shrugged when Derek looked at him.

“Unfortunately yes,” Scott said. “There are people working to change the laws so that supernaturals are afforded the same conditions as humans when it comes to basic rights and self-defense.”

“But even just flashing my eyes right now is a bad thing?” Derek guessed. He didn’t need to see the nods that Isaac and Scott gave him to know he was right. He reined in his wolf as best as he could, enticing it into the little box in his mind where he’d been putting anything Kate-related. As his pack bonds dulled a bit, he sighed in relief.

Isaac’s scent—anxious and fearful—abated somewhat when Derek’s eyes stopped flashing.

Scott smelled bitter, angry. “I’m sorry that you can’t be yourself yet,” he whispered into Derek’s hair.

Derek hugged him back to say a silent thank-you.

He focused on the sound of the wheels on the track, recognizing the exact moment when the engineer began applying the brakes. “We’re stopping soon.” He tensed for a jerk that never came, and by the time he was able to loosen up enough to move again, they were ready to disembark.

If being on a train hurtling toward his family was overwhelming, it was nothing compared to stepping out into the blistering head and running into a wall of their scent.

His wolf leapt from the box, howling in anticipation, and Derek fought for control, little growls bursting from behind his tightly clenched teeth. He could smell his alpha everywhere, and it was a bit disconcerting since he’d gone months without her scent. Even when they were in the compound, Kate made sure he only had enough of his alpha to keep him aware.

Scott gave Derek a slight push. “Go for it. I’ll make sure no one comes after you.”

Derek raced forward, inhaling deeply, trying to parse out where his mom’s scent was strongest. She wasn’t by the ticket office, but she’d just been. He whirled, scanning the faces. He thought he glimpsed her next to Scott, but by the time he stopped next to him, she was gone, her scent lingering amongst the others.

He couldn’t keep the whine from spilling out. “Why is she running from me?” he asked. “Doesn’t she want me?”

Scott wrapped his arms around him. “It’ll be okay. She’s probably just worried about the crowd. I have her address. We can go to her.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mom said behind Derek. She grabbed his arm, jerking him around to face her. “Hi, baby. Are you okay? Have the humans been treating you well?”

“I’m fine,” Derek lied, letting his mom run her hands all over his face and neck. He swallowed back the other lies when his mom frowned at him.

“You’re not fine, baby,” she said. “You haven’t been for a long time.” She turned to Scott, looking him up and down. “You’ll need the bite?” she asked.

Scott nodded.

“We’ll have to go before the council to seek approval. We supernaturals are not allowed to change the human population.”

“Even with the consent of the person accepting the change?”

“Even then,” Mom confirmed.

Scott glanced down at his leg, grimacing at it. “I think I can wait,” he said. “Let’s get out of here before we draw too much attention.”

“I think I have to ask the council’s permission to host you,” Mom said. “The rules are there for protection.”

“Protection for whom?” Scott asked. “Me or you?”

Mom held up a single claw. “I think you,” she said.

Scott nodded. “Might as well ask for the bite then too,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Isaac lugged the trunk behind him as they followed Mom to the ticket booth. Derek slipped his hand into Mom’s, squeezing tightly. He didn’t want to go back to the council, but he was excited to see Danny and Simon again.

Mom squeezed his hand back, the only outward sign that she was nervous too. Derek decided then that he had to be brave for his family. After all, he was the one who’d gone before the council. He could also write his name.

It would have to be enough for the council.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a day early. Too many things to do tomorrow that I don't think I'll be able to get it posted.
> 
> Thanks to all who read.
> 
> *Scott's quote is mostly attributed to Edmund Burke, but in my brief research of it, it has been paraphrased and incorrectly assumed to have been spoken by at least several other historical figures.


	15. Twelve

~ * ~

Melissa was worryingly silent during the short ride back to the train station. She finally roused a bit as Stiles sat with her while Chris and Allison purchased tickets for all of them.

Braeden met them there, grabbing Stiles’ arm and dragging him a short distance away. “Really, Stilinski?” she spit. “Working with the Argents?”

“Hey, I killed Gerard. Chris is reformed, and isn’t there a clause about not passing the sins of the father to the son? Allison and Chris helped take down Gerard’s compound.”

Braeden glared at him. “Just because you’ve decided to completely disregard the history of the war, it doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be as stupid as you.” She pointed at him. “If any of you so much as sneeze wrong, I’m going to end you.”

“Noted,” Stiles said through gritted teeth. The sooner he could get away from her, the better he’d be. He shared a commiserating look with Chris as they boarded.

“I don’t blame her, you know,” Chris told him when they took their seats. Allison by the window next to her father, Melissa across from her, tucked in beside Stiles. He nodded at Melissa. “That’s the legacy of my father. My sister’s is a traumatized boy. And that doesn’t take into account the supernaturals and the humans they’ve killed or irrevocably changed. You count as part of their destruction. How old were you when you joined the Rebel Alliance?”

“Old enough,” Stiles answered. “How old were you when you joined the hunter army?”

Chris chuckled softly. “Old enough,” he answered somberly. “Children of the hunters in charge of compounds, like my father and Kate, were forced into the army right after high school but were expected to have killed their first dissenter by fifteen.”

“What a fucking joke,” Stiles said. “The hunters were recruiting the general populace from as early as twelve. I had several recruiters talk to me until the final one, a pseudo doctor by the name of Gabriel Valak, labeled me a sociopath and drafted me into the army before I could graduate from high school.”

“I’m sorry,” Chris said, “for everything you’ve gone through. You haven’t ever been properly thanked for your service to your country, have you?”

Stiles shook his head. “My hometown believed the hunter’s doctor, and I was shunned. Several of my classmates were revealed to be supernaturals were rounded up to be put in compounds or killed.”

“And you were drafted.”

“I was supposed to be, but I ran away. My best friend followed me. We joined the Rebel Alliance as a way to escape the social pariah I’d become.”

“You were seventeen?”

“Sixteen. I’m twenty-seven now.”

Allison turned from the window. “You’re only twenty-seven?” she asked. “Not even my grandfather was promoted to general before his sixtieth birthday.”

“It was a placation,” Stiles said, trying to swallow the bitterness of it. He was sure he was failing. “An empty award given in place of medals. I mean, how else do you say ‘Sorry for sending you on missions where the object was for you to die but you survived?’”

“Seriously?”

Stiles shrugged. “I volunteered for a lot of missions that I shouldn’t have come back from. I killed a lot of big names in the hunter’s army.”

“HUSA,” Allison corrected. Chris tried to shush her, but she glared at him, squaring her shoulders.

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “The Hunters’ United States of America. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo. The hunters, in my opinion, have forfeited any right to have their terms respected.”

“You may not like their methods, but you have to agree that there have been far less supernatural attacks after they quarantined them.”

“Is that what they called it?” Stiles pointed at Melissa. “Does this look like quarantining to you? Your grandfather abused this woman. I didn’t happen to ask if it was because she is sympathetic toward supernaturals or because her son is a member of the Rebel Alliance, but you can bet that played a role in it.”

“I’m sorry,” Chris said. He squeezed Allison’s arm, and she sank back in her seat, arms crossed. “She spent time with Kate when I was tasked with hunting down Garrison Myers. If I’d realized the poison my sister would put in her head, I never would have left her there.”

“You were in Kate’s compound?” Stiles leaned forward, fixing Allison with a severe glare that she refused to meet. “You were in Kate’s compound with the Hales?”

At Chris’ nudge, Allison nodded.

“So you saw her with Derek.”

Again, Allison nodded.

“And you did nothing.” Stiles seethed. He wished he could pull his gun on her. “You allowed your aunt to continue abusing a child she was tasked with caring for. How did you justify that?”

Allison finally looked up. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but Stiles was unmoved. “I didn’t,” she whispered. “I thought she was doing what was right.”

“What was right?” Stiles hissed. “The boy was naked!” Melissa moaned quietly, and he shifted so that more of his body was shielding her. “Do you know how I found him?” He didn’t wait for an answer, plowing forward, “He was naked, injured. She was standing over him. She was about to rape him when I killed her. You left _a child_ in a situation where he was being hurt.” Stiles stopped, studying her. She was outright crying now, but she seemed angry more than chastised. He shook his head and stood up. “I don’t think I can stomach the sight of you, you coward.”

He reached for Melissa. She whined high in her throat and scuttled off the seat, pressing close to his back, hiding her face. Chris looked between Stiles and his daughter before offering Stiles his hand.

“I will speak to her,” he said. “I am sorry for my shortcomings as a father and I will do my best to rectify them. Good luck with your travels.”

Stiles didn’t bother responding. He knew what it was like to have family that couldn’t be counted on. If Chris couldn’t see that Allison would sell him out to the hunters, then he couldn’t help the man.

Stiles moved to a different carriage, settling in an open seat with no one in the other seats. He and Melissa weren’t alone long before Kira dropped down, sighing as she stretched out across both seats. Stiles watched her warily, one ear trained for Braeden.

“Tell me, Stiles,” Kira said, “do you always trust everyone?”

“I only trust two people,” he said. “Scott and myself.”

“So you know that once an Argent, always an Argent?”

“I imagine next you’ll tell me the only trustworthy Argent is a dead Argent?” Stiles asked.

“Actually,” Kira said, “even the dead ones can’t be trusted. There is no such thing as a good Argent. Even Chris Argent, the one trying to redeem himself, can’t be trusted. He’s Argent royalty.”

“Well, his daughter is certainly a piece of work,” Stiles agreed. He patted at Melissa’s knee. She was still shaking, fine tremors keeping her in a constant state of motion. She seemed to do better when she was ignored and untouched. It reminded him of Derek right after he’d been rescued from Kate’s compound. “Tell me about the train. I thought it was being stopped?”

“It was,” Kira said, “until a faction of local Idahoans jumped on the train and tied up the crew. They’re being guarded in the caboose. We were just about to leave without you.”

“I figured. I fully expected to have to use the four-wheeler to get back to California.” Stiles cut a glance to Melissa, who had leaned her head against the window, staring wide-eyed at the passing scenery. Quietly, he said, “I don’t know if she’d have made it. As it is, I still need to get some water and maybe some food in her.”

Kira sat up, digging in the satchel strung over her shoulder. She tossed Stiles a sealed bottle of water. “I’m not sure you should risk food just yet,” she advised. “You don’t know the last time she ate or how her body will react to it.”

Stiles uncapped the water and tapped Melissa’s shoulder. She turned to him, a quiet sound of distress slipping out before she noticed the water.

“Slowly,” Kira said. “Don’t let her take too much at once.”

Melissa growled lowly as Stiles tipped the bottle for her to sip at. She pawed at his hands, trying to take the bottle from him, but she didn’t have the strength. Finally, though, he pulled it back once she’d drunk a quarter of it.

“Do you remember the last time you had something to eat?” he asked her.

Melissa nodded. “A week.”

 Her voice was thready, barely there. It was obvious she’d suffered damage to her throat.

“Thin broth?” he asked Kira, and she nodded.

“I don’t have any, and I don’t think the train will make any, so she’ll have to wait on food. I’ll see if I can’t find some more water though. A week isn’t long enough to die of starvation.” She studied Melissa’s withered frame. “Although, it looks like it was a rare feeding when she was fed.”

“It definitely won’t be another week before she’s fed again.” To Melissa, he said, “Can you wait until we get back to California?”

Melissa nodded.

“She should be fine,” Kira said, “but just in case, do you want me to see if there is any broth on this train?”

“Yes, please.”

Kira patted Stiles’ hand before she took her leave.

Stiles had just turned back to make sure Melissa was still doing okay when Chris dropped into Kira’s seat.

“So, I talked with Allison,” he said. “Turns out, my sister spent all the years she lived with the foster family brainwashing her to my father’s specifications. Apparently, I’ve always been the ‘weak link’ in the Argent chain. I’ve turned her over to the kitsune-merc duo that seems to be running this operation.”

“You turned in your own daughter?”

Chris shrugged. “‘The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.’ If I do nothing when my own daughter spits hatred for a population of this world, then I’m helping evil triumph.” He sighed, running a hand over his face, scratching at his beard. “She’s just like her mother: once her mind has been made up, there is no changing it. She truly believes that all werewolves, and by extension all supernaturals, are violent creatures deserving of all torture that is heaped upon them.”

“The hunters don’t just hurt the supernatural population,” Stiles said. “I’ve known so many people who were lost inside either Eichen House when it was a hunter-controlled facility or people like Melissa who were taken to be used.” Stiles leaned closer to Chris, whispering, “I found a cradle in the room where she was being kept.”

“I know. As far as I know, there was no child.”

“There was,” Melissa interrupted. She had her hands pressed to her stomach. “I lost the baby during one of his sessions.” She touched her cheek, probing the injury without flinching. “I wished I’d died too.”

“I understand the sentiment,” Stiles told her. He remembered being told about Scott’s injuries and how the doctors didn’t think he’d survive very long.

Stiles had taken the most dangerous mission at the time, traveling to Utah to rout out a faction of cultish humans who worshipped hunters as gods and used a bunch of rabid werewolves to protect themselves.

He hadn’t expected to come back from that, but he had, and then he’d gone after Kate.

Some days he still wished he’d died in Utah instead of walking out of a burning building, everyone, supernatural and human, dead behind him.

Utah was still a no-man’s land with more hunter-worshippers and freed werewolves fighting amongst themselves, the soil stained red from all the spilled blood, no buildings still standing. The war had never truly ended, and Stiles knew, as soon as the Republic realized his worth as an assassin, he’d be pulled out of retirement and forced back into service.

With Derek back with his family, Stiles thought he could do it. Go on suicide missions again. Help the Republic expand until every last hunter was either dead or in prison. Give children like Derek a better chance in life.

Of course, that was if the council granted an annulment, and Stiles had a feeling that they wouldn’t. He didn’t know what long con they were pulling but it couldn’t be anything good. He hadn’t heard of any other marriages after his, and certainly none as polarizing. Right now, he needed to alert the council of the fall of Gerard Argent’s compound, let them know that Melissa had been recovered, and tell them that he hadn’t found any other survivors.

Chris patted Stiles’ knee. “We should be back in California inside of twelve hours.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said. He knew where they were and where they were going. Once they reached Pasadena, it would be another hour before they made it to San Bernardino. After that, it would be another almost two-hour ride down to Chula Vista.

If everything went well, Stiles would be reunited with Scott and Derek in two or three days. And if Melissa reacted well to food, Scott would have his mother back then too.

For now, it was a lot of sitting and doing nothing.

He opened the water again and helped Melissa drink another quarter of it. Then, she leaned against the window and pretended to doze off.

Chris was gone when Stiles looked for him, and Kira passed by, briefly letting him know that there was no broth to be had. There really was nothing else to do but try to rest. Stiles would need his energy later. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

He didn’t sleep.

~ * ~

Eleven and a half hours, three bottles of water, and six bathroom breaks later, the train finally pulled into the Pasadena station. Stiles waited until the rest of the passengers aside from Braeden, Kira, Chris, and Allison had disembarked, before he helped Melissa to her feet. She wavered wildly, and he supported most of her weight as they climbed off the train.

“We’re going to San Bernardino to meet with the council,” Kira said. She had a hand on Allison’s shoulder. “We need to deal with this one.”

Allison looked sullen, glaring at her father.

“I need to speak with them too about Gerard’s compound. Someone has to go back and make sure that any bodies are properly disposed of.”

“And I need to turn myself in,” Chris said. “I guess we’re not saying goodbye quite yet.”

Stiles was not looking forward to having to travel again with Braeden.

“General!” someone called, and Stiles half-turned, studying the crowd. An elderly man with wild eyes, unkempt hair, and tobacco stained teeth grabbed his arm. Melissa started whimpering when she caught sight of him.

“Garrison Myers,” Chris said. “What are you doing here?”

“My son,” Myers mumbled, fingers digging into Stiles’ arm painfully. “My son. This man has my son.”

“No,” Chris said, tone gentle. “Your son is dead, Garrison. He died almost eleven years ago.”

“No,” Myers insisted, “not my real son. My replacement son. He has my replacement son.”

“Replacement son?” Stiles asked. “Who is your replacement son?”

“I chose the boy,” Myers said. “The boy, Kate’s boy. The one she liked to fuck. I chose him. They let me choose my replacement son. I chose him.”

“You chose Derek?” Stiles asked. “Why?”

“I wanted him. He was broken. No one else wanted him. Not to save him. I wanted to save him. It was the best I could do. He was so broken. That poor boy. I chose him. He was my replacement son.”

Myers kept babbling for a few minutes, and Stiles looked to Braeden and Kira to see what they wanted to do. Braeden’s face was pinched into strong dislike, and she pulled out her gun.

Kira tapped her wrist. “Not that,” she said quietly. Then, she lifted two fingers to Myers’ temple. An arc of electricity branched between them, flowing into the man’s head. Myers slumped to the ground, sighing softly as his lungs relaxed and the air trapped inside flowed out.

“Should have let me kill him,” Braeden muttered. “Goddamn hunter-ally.”

“We’ll have to turn him in to the council as well,” Kira said. “Better to have someone live to stand trial.”

“What did he mean that he was promised Derek as a replacement son?” Stiles grabbed Chris’ arm “Who promised Derek to him?”

“I don’t know,” Chris said. “If it was the person in charge of the Hales, that would be Kate, but I hadn’t spoken to Kate in years before she died.”

“You said his son was killed by the Calaveras. Why would Kate offer to replace a son that was a supernatural with another supernatural?”

“Probably because without Myers’ altered reports, she would have been shut down by the Board of Hunters,” Chris said. “What she did to the Hales was unusually cruel and so far beyond the preventive measures that the compounds were supposed to instill. Yes, my father raped and beat Mrs. McCall, which is abhorrent, but at least she isn’t a child chosen specifically because of that trait.”

 “The board of hunters is a joke,” Braeden said. “They were supposed to prevent the rampant abuse the supernaturals suffered, but there is no evidence that they even attempted to try. Myers was part of that board, an independent investigator that was supposed to stop any abuse spotted. If that’s true, he inspected Kate Argent’s compound seventeen times in the three years that she’s been sexually abusing Derek Hale. Not once did he raise concerns with the board.”

“That just means that the board wasn’t informed,” Allison said.

Braeden whirled on her, stabbing a finger in her face. “You have no right to talk. I have it on authority that you witnessed your aunt’s abuse of Derek. You could have informed the board as well and you didn’t.”

Allison snapped her teeth at her. “That monster got everything he deserved. The only thing that would have been better was if he had died instead of Kate.”

“You bitch,” Stiles snapped at her. “If the council doesn’t sentence you to death, I’ll kill you myself.”

Allison spit at his feet. “Go ahead and try. The council will want me alive for the insight I can provide them.”

“Pick a damn side,” Braeden said. “you can’t have it both ways. You can’t be a sympathizer to the hunters and be the one who brings them down.”

“You’re forgetting something very important anyway,” Stiles said. “Your father has already agreed to fulfill the role of an informant. You’re useless to the council.”

Allison looked like she’d been slapped. Stiles was reminded keenly then that she was only eighteen or nineteen. A little young to be sentenced to death. He strengthened his resolve. She was old enough to know better despite her upbringing.

Derek who hadn’t been taught to care for others, only to survive a worst-case scenario, was more generous and giving than Allison, the equivalent of royalty in the United Coalition of States.

“Allison, you could very well be put to death,” Chris said. “California is its own country now, and they have decided that the hunters are traitors to the people. Traitors are executed.”

“Aren’t you a little upset that you’ve betrayed everything your family stood for?” Allison asked her father.

“Allison, you and I are what’s left of that family. Everyone else has been killed—”

“Murdered.”

“—because of what they stood for. That tells you that something is wrong with our family’s morals.”

“Do you think I deserve to die?”

“Do you think all supernaturals deserve to die?”

Allison didn’t answer.

“We need to go now,” Kira said. “The train leaves in less than five minutes. We’re all going to the council, yes? Then go, update your tickets.” She led Allison away, Braeden following, a hand settled onto the butt of her gun.

“Your daughter seems conflicted,” Stiles said to Chris when they were alone. “One minute she seems to condemn her upbringing and the next she hates supernaturals with extreme prejudice.”

Chris sighed. “I don’t know what to make of it,” he admitted. “On the one hand, she’s my daughter and I’d like her to see things from my perspective, but I also know I wasn’t there for her and that’s why she sympathizes with her aunt and grandfather.”

“If she is put to death, that effectively ends your line,” Stiles pointed out.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Chris countered. “Look at the legacy my family has already left. The Argent name has been attached to the Hunters’ United States of America since its inception in 1985. I think it’s time the Argents let someone else try to rule the country.”

“I don’t know if I trust anyone enough to blindly follow their lead,” Stiles said as they took their seats on the train. Sixty more minutes, and they would be in San Bernardino. Stiles wondered if he had time to run down to the barracks after meeting with the council. He wanted to see if the soldiers that had spoken crudely about Derek were still stationed there.

“I don’t know if there is anyone qualified to lead. The president of the United Coalition of States is a member of the second oldest hunting family. If the Republic does the same thing, choosing someone based on longevity to the area, then it’ll be no better off than the rest of the old United States.”

“The council is the ruling body right now,” Stiles said. “They make all decisions. It’s a mix of supernaturals and humans.”

“Why did they allow you to marry Derek Hale?”

Stiles shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

Melissa tapped Stiles’ arm. “What’s so special about your husband?” she asked.

“He’s a werewolf,” Stiles said. “The council wanted to help promote unity between the two factions, so they opened marriages between humans and supernaturals.”

“He’s also a thirteen year old boy,” Chris added softly.

Melissa recoiled, staring at Stiles in horror. “ _You married a child_?”

“When I was stationed in San Bernardino, before the council requested to see me, I overheard numerous soldiers talking about how they were going to rape the Argent’s whore.”

“With the Argent’s whore being the child?”

“Yes. In order to protect him, I offered to marry him.” Stiles sighed. “I should have just let him go with his family, but I thought I was doing the right thing. If it helps at all, I haven’t done anything to him. I haven’t consummated our marriage nor have I tried purposefully to keep him from his family. In fact, he should be with them now.”

“We’re in southern California,” Melissa realized. “Scott?”

“Derek and Scott came down to see Derek’s family. Since we’re in the area, we’ll stop by and visit. I promise. First, we have to see the council. And get you some food.”

Melissa nodded her understanding, settling back in her seat. Stiles leaned across her to watch the receding line of Pasadena’s industrial yard. San Bernardino was a mere hour away. It was enough time for Stiles to pull out a pad of paper and scribble down some of his thoughts about the logistics of becoming an assassin again.

Whatever happened, he wasn’t looking forward to facing the council again.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris' quote is the same as Scott's and is, again, mostly attributed to Edmund Burke. It is a motto of the Resistance/Rebel Alliance and stretches across the United Coalition of States.
> 
> If you happen to notice any continuity errors, please let me know. Once I have the story completed and posted, I will be going through the whole thing one more time to fix any errors. I do check over the story for errors now, but it's a lot easier for fresh eyes to see something out of place than for the same, tired eyes to keep looking.
> 
> Any help with the story is greatly appreciated, as are readers, subscribes, bookmarks, kudos, and comments. Thank you.


	16. Thirteen

~ * ~

San Bernardino was a lot emptier than Derek remembered. They passed the barracks, and he shrank away from the window, recalling the way when his family had been there before, many of the soldiers had stunk of the same attraction that Kate did.

Mom noticed and brushed a hand down his arm. Derek sank into the touch, reveling in the way it made his wolf settle. He hadn’t realized how on edge he’d still been months after Kate’s death.

If Stiles asked for an annulment again, Derek thought he would seek it with him. He didn’t want to be separated from his family ever again. With Scott receiving the bite, council willing, the generals wouldn’t need Derek anymore, and he could ask to stay in Chula Vista. He would miss getting to work at Erica’s produce stand, but he was willing to take the trade since it meant he’d be with his family. He could teach his sisters how to write. He knew his parents could read even if they had to pretend that they didn’t know how. He thought maybe they might have already started, and maybe he would be the one who needed to be taught.

Well, he’d learned a lot in Scott’s garden. He’d be useful to them. He’d make himself be useful.

Mom squeezed his shoulder.

“The council hasn’t met with us,” Mom told Scott. “I don’t know if they want a human to take the lead or if they’d be receptive to listening to a supernatural.”

“Half the council is supposed to be supernatural,” Scott said. “I don’t think it matters too much.”

“It’s a medical request,” Isaac added. “Maybe Scott can ask for the bite and Derek’s mom can offer to be the one who does it.”

Mom laughed. She stuck her hand out to Isaac. “I’m Talia. I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet.”

“We’ve only been riding this train for thirty minutes,” Isaac said. He shot a glare at Scott but he didn’t smell or look angry at all. “I’m Isaac,” he added. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They settled into silence again. They were close to the stop for the council, and it made Derek’s stomach swoop a little. He wasn’t looking forward to facing the council again, no matter how necessary it was.

He was starting to wonder if he was needed here. If Scott had his mom to be his alpha, then he wouldn’t need Derek’s limited information, and if Mom had Scott as a new beta, she didn’t need her old one either.

Mom hugged him. “What are you thinking?” she asked softly.

Derek shrugged. “Just things,” he whispered back. “What happens if the council denies the request for the bite?”

“Is Scott’s life in danger?”

“It might be,” Isaac broke in. “Medicine stagnated under the hunters’ rule. At the very least he’ll lose his limbs. If the infection spread too deep into his body, then there is no helping it.”

“I don’t think the council will say no,” Scott said. “They didn’t say no to Stiles.”

“But they did,” Isaac pointed out. “They allowed him to marry Derek and then denied the annulment. Isn’t that what you’d said?”

“It is,” Scott said. “But they allowed the initial request, the one for marriage, to go through. I think they’ll allow me to get the bite. I’m not sure though. The council seems to have its own agenda for the Republic.”

“The train is stopping now,” Mom said. She grabbed Derek’s hand, squeezing tightly. “We can seek the bite for Scott. What was the thing about the annulment?”

“After Stiles was allowed to marry Derek to protect him from the soldiers here in San Bernardino, he tried to get the marriage annulled so that he could escort Derek to you. The council denied his request and threatened to throw both him and Derek in Eichen House if he continued to ask. Stiles feels really guilty about it. I think that’s why he’s been focusing so much on traveling. The Republic asked him to speak about his experiences in the Rebel Alliance to help prevent another civil war from breaking out.”

“It hasn’t helped much,” Mom murmured. “Our farm has been attacked many times by hunter-aligned peoples seeking to run out the werewolves. We are not allowed to defend ourselves unless we are in danger of dying.”

“Have you?” Scott asked. “Been in danger of dying?”

“We heal,” Mom said.

“But if someone attacked you, stabbed you, shot you, wouldn’t that count as being in danger of dying?”

Mom shook her head. “Unless they attack us with weapons doused in wolfsbane, it does not count as being in danger of dying.”

Scott paused, frowning at her. Derek thought he was thinking, but Scott didn’t say anything even when they disembarked into a crowd and headed toward the capitol building.

Derek held his breath as they climbed the steps and pushed through the double doors. He still felt unsettled and unsure as they walked down the short hallway to the front desk where the wyvern was perched on the edge of the desk, a large basket filled with brightly colored potatoes balanced in her hand as she chattered to the lamia behind the desk.

“Hello,” Scott said, using his crutches to rest as he smiled at both the wyvern and the lamia.

“Hello, General,” the wyvern said, flapping her eyelashes at him. “What can we do for you today?”

“I need to speak with the council about seeking the bite of a werewolf.”

The wyvern slipped off the desk, the basket clattered across the floor. What Derek had thought were potatoes were painted fruits, and they left smears of reds and purples as they rolled away.

“The council won’t approve it,” the wyvern said. “Not unless it’s a medical issue.” She eyed Scott. “Follow me.”

She led them to the double doors of the council’s chamber. Beyond them, the council was speaking, the light murmurs of the crowd nearly drowning out Satomi’s voice as she asked for the next grievance to be solved.

“Only the ones affected by this request may enter the council’s chambers,” the wyvern explained. She pushed Scott and Mom forward, shutting the doors behind them.

As much as Derek would have liked to hear what the council would say to his mom and Scott, he also wanted to find Danny again. Maybe he has some of those sweets still.

He followed his nose down the hallway until he came to the room Danny and Simon had been in nearly half a year before. He knocked gently, stepping back and waiting while someone shuffled around.

Then the door opened, and Simon stood there.

“Derek!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Derek?” Danny asked from within the room.

“Hi, Danny,” Derek called.

Danny waved them into the room. It looked larger than he remembered. “What are you doing here?”

“My mother is going to give Scott the bite,” Derek said, letting Danny hug him tightly. Isaac stood awkwardly in the doorway, eyeing Simon’s protruding belly with more than a little fear. His human nose was wrinkled in disgust at the overwhelming sage scent.

Derek found that he didn’t mind it this time around, and he equated it to a full belly—even if he hadn’t eaten much of anything since before the first train.

Danny pulled back and dug in his pocket for a handful of the sweets. Derek accepted them with an enthusiastic thank you. He shared some with Isaac too.

“This is Isaac,” he introduced when he noticed Isaac still hadn’t moved from the doorway. “He’s from the same hometown as the generals.”

“I remember,” Danny said quietly. “How are you, Isaac?”

Isaac mumbled something that was nothing at all because even Derek’s ears couldn’t catch it. He crammed a few of the sweets in his mouth, probably so he wouldn’t have to speak again.

Undeterred, Danny continued, asking about other people they both knew, including someone named Cam.

“Cam died,” Isaac said suddenly. “In New York. Friendly fire.”

Danny’s face blanked before he carefully said, “I’m sorry to hear that.” He turned to Derek. “Do you want anything to eat? I was about to go on a food run for Simon.”

Derek glanced at Isaac, wondering at the grief he could see and smell. “Yes, please,” he said to Danny. He wasn’t sure if Isaac would stay here or if he would come too, but when they all headed down to the kitchen, Isaac followed.

“What about the chest?” Isaac asked, disinterestedly kicking at it.

“You can leave it in our office,” Simon said. He snapped his fingers and the chest disappeared. It reappeared with a soft thump in the middle of Danny and Simon’s room.

This time, the kitchen was bustling with people, several of them supernatural creatures. Things were being cooked on the stove, pots stirred, pans rattled, all sorts of aromas tickling Derek’s nose.

Danny opened the re-fridge-erator and pulled out a stack of cold meats. He passed these to Simon, who crammed them into his mouth. Danny next handed out little cups of soured milk. “Spoons are in the drawer to your left,” he instructed, still digging out more food.

Isaac gathered spoons and peeled the lid off one of the containers. Derek sniffed it, shaking his head.

One of the other supernaturals, a Kuchisake-onna, slid a plate with a pile of fried vegetables and noodles in front of him. Derek liked this dish better, and nodded his thanks to her. She smiled with a toothless mouth, settling with her own plate next to him.

Kuchisake-onnas were Japanese demon-women who had been marred by their lovers in a former life. There had been one living in Kate’s compound. She used to sneak food to Derek when Kate would starve him for too long.

Food was passed around, plates, cups, silverware shared among them. Derek ate with his hands, digging into the mess of everything that was offered, sad that he had nothing to offer himself.

Finally, though, he felt overfull, as he had so long ago when Danny and Simon had fed him before his wedding. It had taken much more food this time.

Isaac looked a little sick but he reached for another red-purple fruit, biting into it with as much relish has he’d had with the jam sandwiches.

“Plums,” Simon said to Derek’s questioning gaze. “They’re grown in the south part of the Republic. They come once a year. Sometimes, we dry them and call them prunes.”

“They’re good,” Isaac said, offering Derek a bite. He liked the sweet burst of flavor, but he was too full to keep eating and handed it back quickly.

“The council will be finishing shortly,” the Kuchisake-onna said. “We need to prepare the food now.”

Danny ushered Isaac and Derek back to his room.

“What do we do now?” Isaac asked.

“We wait,” Danny said.

~ * ~

Almost an hour later, Mom knocked on the door.

Danny let Derek open it.

“Hey, baby,” Mom said, dropping a kiss to his forehead. She shut the door behind her and gestured to a set of chairs in front of a large desk. The whole room had changed since the last time Derek had been here, and he found he liked it.

Last time, it was almost has if he’d been in a sitting room. Now, he was definitely in an office.

Mom took his hands in hers and held them in her lap. “The council agreed to allow me to bite Scott. They agree that he needs it or he might die. The infection has spread too far to be stopped now. They denied my offer to bite Isaac as he is not in danger of dying. Scott is being prepped now.”

“And he will stay with you after the bite?”

“Yes.”

“And will I?”

Mom tightened her grip on his hands. “Yes,” she said, confident. “You will stay with us. We have so much time to make up. Your sisters wanted to come with us, but we’ve been entrusted to grow the food for the army.”

“I know some gardening,” Derek said. “I can help.”

Mom smiled at him. “I don’t care if you do or don’t,” she told him. “I just don’t want to miss any more of your life. I’ve already missed too much.”

Isaac cleared his throat. “You said Scott is being prepared right now?” Mom nodded. “What does that mean?”

“It means that one of the council is looking him over to make sure that his body will take the bite. I’m not entirely sure what they look for or if Scott has it, but they’ll let me know inside of fifteen minutes whether I am going to bite him or not.”

“They didn’t want to do it themselves?” Danny asked. “Of course not,” he answered himself. “Something with that much risk? No, they’d never do it.” His scent is rippling all around him, equal parts angry and disgust. “I found out after you left,” he said, pointing at Derek, “that the celestial being, the head of the council, was going to marry you. They only agreed to let General Stilinski marry you instead because of who his father is.”

“And who is his father?” Derek asked. “He’s a man of religion, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but he’s also the founder of the Rebel Alliance.” At Isaac’s incredulous face, Danny adds, “It’s the worst kept secret in the Republic. Too many people were so proud of the fact that they knew one of the founders, the other being a kitsune named Noshiko Yukimura.”

“I knew Noshiko,” Mom said. “It’s a shame what happened to her and her husband.”

“What happened?” Derek asked.

Mom sighed. “They were betrayed. Their home was burned down around them, Noshiko was trapped in a circle of mountain ash and Ken was eviscerated, left as bait for his wife.”

“At least their daughter escaped,” Danny said. “Kira Yukimura. She’s a mercenary fighter who travels to other states to help them with their resistance fights. She’s usually accompanied by her partner, Braeden.”

“Mercenaries?” Isaac asked. “How exactly do you become a mercenary?”

“With a lot of training, I’d imagine,” Mom replied. She looked Isaac up and down. “If you’re thinking of joining, you’d need at least a few years of training.”

“I don’t want to be one,” Isaac mumbled. “I was just thinking of General Stilinski. What is he going to do when he’s done with his speaking tour? Is he just going to stay in Beacon Hills? The town hates him.” He ran a hand over his face. “The night before we got on the train, my dad was talking about going out to the generals’ houses and burning them down. I think he would have been stopped because the town feels guilty about Scott’s injuries.”

“You can call Erica and check, right?” Derek asked.

Isaac nodded slowly. “When Scott comes back,” he promised. “I’ll call her.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Simon waved it open. The wyvern stood there, her hand raised to knock again.

“The council is ready for you again,” she said.

Mom stood up. “Did they have an answer for my question?” she asked.

The wyvern nodded. “They say there is no feasible reason for your son to be in the room while you administer the bite. They seem to think it will endanger the general.”

Mom’s scent soured even as her face remained impassive. “They are far less knowledgeable about these things than I’d hoped.” She grabbed Derek’s hand. “Come with me anyway. Having another pack member near him will help settle Scott when the bite takes.”

“If it takes,” the wyvern pointed out.

Mom glared at her. “ _When_ it takes,” she emphasized. “The bite will take with Scott. And it will be beneficial to him to have a pack member nearby that isn’t his alpha.”

“Just take him in,” Danny said. “I’ll back you up if the council disapproves.”

“They will,” the wyvern inserted.

“Then I will make them see reason,” Mom said. “The werewolf on the council is old. Certainly she’s turned a few people in her life. She should know how it’s done.”

Isaac raised his hand. “Is she an alpha?”

“She is,” Danny said. “Werewolves haven’t been able to turn people for three decades. She’s definitely older than thirty years.”

“I was fourteen when the war broke out,” Mom said quietly. “The last person turned in our pack before the hunters came for us was the father of my children. He was human, ill, and my mother bit him to save his life. She had my sister, brother, and I stay with him to help his transition. We were found the next day, and my mother was killed on the spot.”

Derek remembered the stories. He’d told them to himself over and over again after Kate had taken him. He wished he could have met his grandmother and aunt, but after the hunters had killed his grandmother, the alpha power passed to his aunt, and she fought back and was killed then too. His mother had gone from being a middle child to the oldest and responsible for her younger brother and the newly turned pack-mate.

Sometimes, Derek wished she would have fought back too, but that was usually when Kate was exceptionally cruel to him and he only wished it so that he wouldn’t have been born.

“Hurry,” the wyvern said. “It’s not good to keep the council waiting.”

“The council is a farce,” Mom said. “We’ve traded one master for another.” She pointed at Derek. “My son, a fourteen year old child, was married to a man almost twice his age. And for what purpose? I’ve heard General Stilinski’s reasons, and I agree with him: someone should have been protecting my son. But why wasn’t I allowed? Why was he taken from us again and given to the highest bidder?”

“I think the celestial being would have been the highest bidder,” Danny said. “I’m not sure why he let the other council members allow the marriage.”

“The celestial being, is that what you’re calling that vampire? The one that you said wanted my son?”

“As long as I’ve been here, he’s been treated as similar to an angel.”

Mom snorted. “Angels are real. He’s a vampire. Allergic to sunlight, ageless.”

“What are the scars on his body from?” Derek asked.

“Many of them don’t remember how old they are, so they make marks to pass days. A repeated scoring disallows proper healing and causes scars. If we were to do the same, we would eventually scar like that too.”

“Stop dallying!” the wyvern snapped, grabbing Derek and jerking him from his mother’s grasp. Mom shifted, snarling and snapping her fangs onto the wyvern’s wrist.

She let Derek go with a cry.

“Alpha Hale!” Danny shouted. “Let Agatha go. She’s just trying to do her job.”

Mom released the wyvern, wiping at the blood on her lips. Agatha whimpered, scurrying away.

“It would appear,” Simon said when she was gone, “that we should head to the council’s chambers before they send someone to investigate.”

“I’m sorry,” Mom whispered into Derek’s hair. “I shouldn’t have lost control like that.”

“Agatha will heal,” Danny assured them. “I’m more worried that she’ll tell the council and they’ll revoke their approval of you giving Scott the bite.”

They wouldn’t do that, would they? Derek couldn’t imagine the council granting the bite only to take it away. He hoped Agatha wouldn’t tell on them. Scott needed the bite to save his life, and Derek didn’t know if Alpha Satomi would be able to devote as much time to Scott as a new beta required. With Mom, there was Dad, Peter, Laura, and Cora to help.

Scott met them at the doors to the council’s chambers. He had a robe on, his hair freshly washed. He smiled at Derek, ruffling his hair.

“Doing all right, kiddo?” he asked.

He didn’t seem to mind that Derek didn’t answer.

Inside the room, the smells of all the people overwhelmed Derek. He glanced around, trying to parse out individuals instead of the collect. It didn’t work until their small group stopped in front of the council’s bench.

As one, the council members stirred, sitting forward, peering down at them with suspicions.

“What is the point of this?” Elder Deaton demanded. He pointed an accusing finger at Mom. “You were not supposed to bring the boy.”

“The ‘boy’ is General McCall’s pack-mate,” Mom said. “It would be better for all involved if he were allowed to stay.” She studied the full room deliberately, meeting eyes all around them. “If you insist on performing the ritual in front of all these strangers, then we deserve the right to have as much pack as we can nearby.”

“Nearby,” Alpha Satomi repeated. “The druid’s office was near enough. I could sense the boy from there.”

“You could, yes,” Mom agreed. “But you are not part of our pack. The senses become overwhelmed and it is better to have pack closer.”

Alpha Satomi inclined her head. “Very well, Alpha Hale.” She cleared her throat, addressing the room at large. “For the next fifteen minutes, the chambers shall be cleared of all nonessential personnel. Once it has been ascertained whether the bite will manifest immediately or take time, the chambers will be opened again. Thank you for your consideration.”

The audience shuffled out, their perfumes and sweat smell lingering long after the doors closed behind them. One person remained seated. He’d been hidden behind a pillar, but without the crush of bodies around him, he was obvious.

Garrison Myers stared unblinking at Derek.

Derek tugged on Scott’s sleeve. “How did he find us again?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Scott turned to the council. “Excuse me, can you tell me why Garrison Myers is seated here?”

“Garrison Myers is coming before the council to plead his case,” Elder Deaton said. “It concerns you not.”

“I think it does. This man has attempted to abscond with Derek, claiming that he had been granted parental rights over Derek by an unnamed person or persons.”

“Garrison Myers will stand trial for his crimes,” a thin lizard person hissed. She settled back in her seat and pointed a claw dripping with clear fluid at Mom. “Hurry your ritual bite; the chambers won’t be cleared much longer.”

The gray-skinned being stood up, lifting both hands above his head. “Do you, Alpha Talia Hale, swear to care for and tend to General Scott McCall as your beta to the best of your abilities and powers?”

“I do,” Mom said.

“Do you, General Scott McCall, swear to care for and live with Alpha Talia Hale’s pack to the best of your ability.”

“I do.”

The being clapped his hands together with a resounding boom. Derek flinched at the sound.

“Does any present object to the bite being bestowed?” When the council remained silent, he clapped again. “So be it. Alpha Hale, you may bite General McCall.”

Scott lowered his robe, revealing the twisting scars covering the entire right side of his torso. His flesh was rotted, blackened and almost sweet smelling. Mom gently lifted his damaged arm and pressed it to her sharp teeth. Derek stepped forward, and as Mom bit down, he drew Scott’s pain.

Scott still howled with hurt, trashing against Mom’s teeth.

Minutes passed before he slumped, unconscious, and Derek settled with him on the floor. Mom drew her fangs back, licking at the wounds she’d left to help soothe them.

They waited for a few more minutes before Scott stirred slightly, his lips parting to release a contented purr Derek recognized as one he used to make when he was little and could be calmed by his parents.

“Congratulations, Alpha Hale,” Alpha Satomi said. “Your first beta.”

“Thank you, Alpha, council.”

Mom lifted Scott easily, and she, Isaac, and Derek headed for the door. Already the observers were coming back in, carrying with them an air of excitement and quiet murmuring far too frenzied for Derek to decipher.

He raced ahead to hold the door open for his mother and new pack member and came face to face with General Stilinski.

“Derek,” Stiles said, voice flat, cold. Derek stepped back instinctively, and Stiles grabbed onto him with too-thin fingers, scrabbling at the muscle there. “You’ve changed.”

“You’ve been gone,” Derek replied, as dispassionately as he could. “Why are you here? Are there more colleges to speak to?”

Stiles frowned at him. “I’m here with vital information regarding the resistance fight in other states.” He squinted at Mom. “How’s he holding up?”

“He’s doing fine,” Mom said, short. “He needs to rest while his body changes. General Stilinski.” She pushed past him, heading for Danny’s office again. Stiles stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Wait, please,” he said. “Tell him—tell him that I found her. Please?” He looked to Derek and then back to Scott in Mom’s arms. “He’ll know what I mean. Just tell him that I found her.”

Stiles didn’t wait for an answer before he charged into the room, marching purposefully toward the council’s bench.

“Who’s her?” Isaac asked quietly.

Derek looked at his mother holding her new beta, realization dawning. “It’s his mother,” he told Isaac. “Stiles found Scott’s mom.”

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited. Will fix errors later.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	17. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Kate's actions resurface. See end notes for a more thorough warning.

~ * ~

Stiles stood before the council, waiting for one of them to react. Behind him, Chris, Allison, and Kira stood silently.

Finally, Alpha Satomi spoke. “Gerard Argent is dead?”

“Yes,” Stiles said. “I confirmed his death myself.”

“Killed him, you mean,” one of the other council members said. Stiles didn’t know whether she was human or not. He would guess so. Her eyes were startling blue and her hair was solidly gray. Much older than the wars. “Gerard Argent didn’t just lie down and die one day. And you wouldn’t know if he had.”

“I was asked to infiltrate his compound,” Stiles said, twisting his fingers together behind his back. The council had taken the time to remove the ever-present crowd, and for that Stiles was grateful. It was bad enough he was being stared down by the lone prisoner. He recognized Garrison Myers from the “hit” cards he and other assassins would play with between missions. Myers was in place of the 10 of Diamonds.

Kate had been the Queen of Spades. Gerard, the king. Victoria was Queen of Hearts, and Chris had been her king.

After Chris’ “death,” another head honcho hunter had taken his place as King of Hearts. Victoria hadn’t been replaced when Stiles killed her. By that time, most of the faces on the cards had been killed and the war was winding down in the Republic.

“You killed Gerard Argent, just admit it,” the woman insisted, and Stiles opened his hands, bringing them to his front.

“Fine,” he said. “Yes. I killed Gerard Argent. If I hadn’t been discharged, I would have been sent after him anyway. This way saves everyone more trouble.”

Chris stepped forward, drawing level with Stiles. “My father deserved to die,” he said. “Not only for the crimes and cruelty he inflicted against the supernatural population, but also for the travesty and tragedy he heaped on the humans too. My father was a bad man, and General Stilinski did the right thing by killing him.”

“He was not acting on orders of the council,” the scarred, gray-skinned being said. “As such, we cannot offer protection. If the Coalition wishes to have him stand trial, we will have to allow them.”

“With all due respect,” Kira said loudly, “that’s fucking bullshit.” She tugged Allison forward. “This is what’s left of the Argent hunters. With time and care, she can be saved. Gerard Argent could not. He deserved to die for his crimes. He was the one who enacted the compounds in the Republic in the first place, or have you forgotten?”

Stiles thought he saw Kira swipe at her face. She squared her shoulders, facing down the council. “I was raised in a compound. Hell, most of you were too. Why would you ever turn one of ours over to the enemy? You want to condemn General Stilinski for killing Gerard Argent? Then condemn me too. I sent him out there with that goal in mind.”

“The council has a duty to its people,” the gray-skinned being said.

“Bull-fucking-shit,” Kira countered. “The council isn’t trying to better the Republic. If they were, they wouldn’t have discharged one of their best soldiers and sent him on a fucking useless tour of the colleges. You’ve been pulling the strings for a lot longer than you would have the public believe. Don’t think I don’t know that most of you humans and definitely you, Caltharbairn, were part of the Hunter’s United States of America’s army.”

The gray-skinned being glared at Kira. “You know not of what you speak, young kitsune.”

“I may be young in kitsune years, but I still have thirty years of life in this miserable existence. I know things that would make your bald head grow hair just so it could stand on end. And I know that you perpetuated most of them.”

The doors banged open behind them, and Braeden strode into the room, a pump action shotgun in her hands. “Caltharbairn,” she said, “you are under arrest according to Article 17, Paragraph 3: Pursuant to Rule Number 73, if a member of government has been found to have accepted bribes from hunters or to have served hunters in any capacity, they shall immediately and without prejudice be removed from their position of power and remanded to Eichen House for further evaluation.”

She pointed at each council member in turn, reciting the same passage. She skipped only Elder Deaton, Alpha Satomi, the lizard woman, a small creature with a bulbous nose and pink hair, and a young human male.

Soldiers filed in then, each holding a pair of electro-cuffs. Supernaturals couldn’t be held with just metal or plastic. Many of them singularly had more strength than an entire train-full of humans.

The woman with gray hair and the scarred, gray being were both dragged out first. As he passed the threshold, Caltharbairn turned back to the room, snarling at them. His teeth were sharp, dripping a dark, viscous fluid.

“Do you really think that you would have been allowed to marry the boy if it were not for me?” he said to Stiles. “The council didn’t agree that you should have him, but when I suggested I could care for him, I was denied. The boy was supposed to be mine. A permanent food source. One that could take the pain inflicted upon his body. One that wouldn’t be missed.”

Stiles scoffed. “You may think that, but I know better. I was wrong to ask to marry him; I knew that from the start even if I denied that I was hurting him just as much as his previous abusers. He should have been with his family. I haven’t seen him yet with them, not at length anyway, but I already know that he belongs there.”

“He’s a werewolf. They don’t need packs. It’s a myth perpetuated by the werewolves themselves.”

Alpha Satomi stood up. “A werewolf doesn’t need a pack?” she asked, voice low, steady. Stiles, human that he was, could hear the anger behind her words. “You just witnessed a bite. What do you think would have happened had we not allowed the boy in the room? His new pack member would have gone mad and it would have been difficult for his alpha to control him.”

“You do not need pack,” Caltharbairn said, staring pointedly at her.

She smiled. “Brett.”

The young male council member stood up, and Stiles had never misread a person so badly as when he flashed yellow eyes at her.

“Take him away,” Braeden ordered. “Take them all away.” She marched up to the council’s table and settled into a seat there. She wriggled, kicking back, and propping her boots up on the edge of the table itself. She shook her head, standing up. “Kira, you wanna try?”

Kira shook her head. “Stiles?”

“No thanks.”

“I know, my dad.” Kira pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. “Hey, Dad,” she said when the person on the other end picked up. “Got a question for you. How’d you like to serve on the Freed Republic of California’s council? A few spots have opened up.”

“Are we done with the Gerard Argent business?” Stiles asked.

Alpha Satomi inclined her head. “Thank you,” she said, “for taking care of a threat before it reared its head.

“I hope you’ll be more amendable to annulling my marriage now?”

“Of course. Please return with your husband and we will put in into decree now.”

Elder Deaton cleared his throat. “I hate to be the bearing of bad news,” he said, “but with the council’s purge, we have neither a quorum nor a majority rule. We will have to wait until more members are appointed. I myself plan to ask Father Stilinski if he would join us. I think we could benefit with more veterans in our ranks.”

“Can I request to be reenlisted?” Stiles asked. “With no husband and, I assume, no need to continue the speaking tour, I would very much like to be useful to the Republic.”

“General Stilinski,” Alpha Satomi said. “You have been fighting for many years. Rest. Learn to care for yourself. Ask us again when you have learned that.”

Stiles felt the dismissal down to his core. He was still an unnecessary piece stuck where he didn’t belong, and no matter how hard he tried to carve a place for himself, he was rejected, run out, turned away, and left to fend for himself.

He clenched his jaw, turning to leave. Before he could, Chris grabbed his hand. “Good luck and thank you,” he said. “I hope we can meet again.”

Stiles forced his jaw to unlock. “Good luck to you too,” he managed.

Head held high, he exited the room, leaning against the wall on the way down toward Danny and his goblin’s chambers. He took a few shuddering breaths. He couldn’t think about his future right now. To do so would render him useless, and then he would be no help to anyone.

Learn to love himself, he thought bitterly. Just how was he supposed to do that? He’d spent much of his formative years knowing he wasn’t good enough for his father and hearing others tell him he wasn’t worth the air he breathed.

There was no loving him. He was unlovable. A murderer, a killer. A psychopath.

A hand not as large as his own but much larger than he remembered slipped into his, fingers curling around his, holding on with a gentleness Stiles had had little cause to feel.

He lifted his head, staring tiredly at Derek’s bowed head.

“You are in pain,” Derek said softly. “But I can’t draw your pain.”

“That’s because it’s emotional,” Stiles said. He extracted his hand from Derek’s. “The council has agreed to annul our marriage as soon as they have enough members again.”

“Is that what you want? An annulment?”

“Isn’t it what you want?”

“I’ve always only wanted one thing.”

“Yeah?”

“To not be ignored. Please stop turning from me. You are my husband.”

Stiles laughed. “Not for much longer.” He couldn’t explain to himself why that thought made him tear up. To hide it, he motioned toward Danny’s chambers. “How is Scott? Is he awake yet?”

Derek nodded. “He is overwhelmed. He’s healing too.”

“Good. I’m glad. How’s his mother?”

Derek made a face, a mixture of sorrow and anger. “She is dying.” Stiles felt his heart seize, and Derek continued, studying him carefully. “My mom thinks she’s too weak to survive the bite. All we can do is take her pain and make her comfortable.”

“Could another supernatural save her?” Stiles asked, a desperate edge to his words.

Derek shrugged. “Maybe. This place is full of supernaturals. I can ask Danny or Simon for help.” He slipped his hand back in Stiles’ and led him to the chamber door.

Danny threw it open, pale and shaking. He looked mad, and instinctively, Stiles stepped back.

Danny shook himself. “I’m not mad at you,” he said. “For once.”

“Caltharbairn,” Simon said, like that explained everything.

“What does he have to do with anything?”

It was Derek’s mother that answered. “Caltharbairn was the head inmate at Eichen House when it was a hunter facility. He has the unique ability to bite another supernatural with dormant genes and wake them up. And he can alter their memories so that they can implant anything they like. I didn’t know who he was at first, but—”

“Some new documents, hunter’s documents have come to light,” Danny said. Kate’s journal, Stiles would guess. He’d given it to Braeden on the journey back. Caltharbairn must have been listed in there.

“What does that mean?” Stiles turned to Danny. He knew Danny had spent time in Eichen House, but he was positive that was after Jackson had been killed.

“It means,” Danny said, “that Beacon Hills was full of supernatural beings and that the hunters were perfectly aware that we were all there. Did you ever wonder why a small town like ours was constantly under hunter control when we had little to offer to their regime? Why they always came for us and seemed to rout every single supernatural being out despite everyone trying to hide them?”

“We were all bitten by that vampire?”

“It would appear so,” Talia said. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles’ vision went red, and he walked to the wall, perfectly aware of what he was doing but unable to stop it. He managed two blows before Derek grabbed him, cradling his head against his shoulder.

“How was he—why was he allowed—who _the fuck_ decided that a hunter-aligned supernatural was the best choice to pass legislation against the hunters?”

“The world was chaos after the hunters gave up California.”

Stiles shook his head. “Think again. It’s been, what, almost a year since Kate Argent was killed. She was the last hunter who ran a compound here. How in the ever loving fuck did something as vital as Chuthulu-for-brains get past the people making the legislation? Surely they would have known about him, about any rumors?”

“Mom said he altered minds,” Derek said. “Would that have something to do with him being on the council?”

“If that’s the case, why wouldn’t they have agreed to him marrying you?”

“It’s short term,” Talia said. “If he does it too much, a resistance is built up.”

“Unless he bites supernaturals.”

Talia nodded. “Then, it just activates the supernatural part of them.”

“So, he was able to manipulate the humans on the council to appoint him,” Stiles said. “Or he was able to use the already hunter-sympathetic humans to get himself put on the council.”

“I can heal Melissa,” Danny interrupted them suddenly. “But,” he winced, “only if I have a sacrifice beforehand. The powers of a druid are activated very particularly.”

“What counts as a sacrifice?”

Danny shrugged. “I’ve not yet had to do it.”

“How long does Melissa have?”

“At least a few days,” Talia said. “Her body is shutting down. If we wait too long, the damage will be irreversible.”

“So, I have time to research what I need to do, right?” Danny asked.

“Yes,” Talia said. “As long as it takes no longer than two days. After that, I cannot guarantee that even if you heal her, the bite will take.”

“I’m on it.” Danny kissed the goblin, and how was Stiles just now noticing the swollen belly on him? “I’ll try to find my answers by the end of today.”

Derek tugged at Stiles’ hand. “Do you want to see Scott now?”

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles let Derek lead him across the hall to another, smaller room. Scott was sitting on the bed, his crutches discarded on the floor, a pad of paper across his lap as he wrote hurriedly. With his damaged hand.

“Stiles,” he said without looking up. “What are you doing here?”

“Apparently helping to overthrow the last vestiges of the hunters in the Republic.”

“I heard that part. I meant, what are you doing here in my room?”

Stiles looked to Derek. “I’m here because no matter what happens, you’re my brother.”

Scott lifted his head, and his eyes were yellow, teeth sharp. “I don’t know why, but I don’t want to see you right now.” He snapped his gaze to Derek. “Get him out of here.”

“He’s part of your pack too,” Derek said. “Can’t you feel it?”

Scott shook his head. “Right now, all I feel is how wrong it is. I can sense how unhappy Stiles is, and I know that it’s because of the marriage. But, all I can think about is making my pack happy. To do that, I have to rip out one of your throats. I don’t want to do that. Please don’t make me do that.”

Stiles stepped back. “I’ll talk to you later, okay, Scott?”

Scott didn’t answer, returning his attention to his paper. Derek closed the door behind them. “He’s having a hard time with the shift,” he explained. “It’s because he had to heal everything before he could focus on learning control. We are all taught control from a very young age. I’ve never seen how a bitten werewolf learns.” He eyed Stiles thoughtfully. “You are pack. He won’t kill you.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“But you are worried.”

“Yes. I can’t help but feel that I’m still doing things wrong. I killed Gerard but he was dying anyway. I’m still married to you even though we should have been annulled before we even started.”

“Why do you hate me?” Derek interrupted him.

“What?”

“You hate me, you hate being married to me. Why? What did I do wrong when everyone else wants me but you don’t?”

Stiles stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Derek thought he hated him? Hadn’t they had this conversation before?

And then Stiles realized he had never taken the time to assure Derek it wasn’t him, that it was Stiles with the hang-ups and the inability to face himself, to answer for his mistakes. He realized, also, that he hadn’t been the best he could have been. Derek had spent months in Beacon Hills when he could have been with his family, the council be damned. If he’d known that they would have been decimated, had been full of hunter-sympathizers and inadequate peacekeepers, then he would have pushed harder to get Derek down to Chula Vista. Except, that was probably a lie.

There had been nothing stopping him before now, and he still had failed Derek.

He could blame the council and the circumstances all he liked. It didn’t change the fact that he was the reason Derek wasn’t with his family and was standing before him now, tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, meaning it. “I’m not ever going to be the husband you wanted, but you’re more than I deserve.”

“You locked me out of our house,” Derek said. “You used mountain ash to keep me out, and Scott was busy with Allison. I had nowhere to go.” He rubbed the heels of his hands over his face, scrubbing away the tears that had fallen. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt me, but you did. And I still love you.”

“You don’t,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “How could you? You don’t know me. I’m just the person that took over your chains. That’s not love. Derek, it’s okay to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Derek said. “I just wish you loved me.”

Stiles thought about that. Did he love Derek, or was he still trying to protect the boy? “I think I could and should love you.” He recalled the witch with the hat, wondering if Derek still had it. Smiling ruefully, he added, “I certainly feel jealous when others care for you.”

“Even Scott?”

“Scott’s my brother. I know he would never do anything to hurt you. It’s the others I worry about.”

“Like Private Ennis?”

Stiles bristled at the reminder of the alpha at the Beacon Hills train station. “He was a threat.”

“I know that. He broke my feet that day.”

Stiles blinked in surprise. “I knew he injured you, but I’d thought…” he paused, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. Why didn’t you tell me that he broke your feet?”

Derek shrugged. “It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever suffered. Besides, you stood up for me then. It wasn’t like you were going to let him get away with taking me.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, feeling a desperate sort of horror swelling in his stomach, “did Kate ever share you?”

“She let others train their tortures on me, but only she ever fucked me.”

“Raped,” Stiles said, strained. “She raped you.”

Derek looked at him like he was stupid, and Stiles thought he had a point. He grabbed fistfuls of his hair and tugged sharply. It wasn’t as good as smashing his head into the wall, but it did calm him enough that he could draw in a few sharp breaths. “I’m sorry. This isn’t really helping, is it?”

“You’re still talking to me.” Derek shrugged again. Stiles hated the motion.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologized. “I shouldn’t have treated you as I did. It was wrong of me.”

“Your words are empty,” Derek said. “I can’t smell if you’re sincere because your scent is too mingled with the other emotions you keep feeling.”

“Well, stronger sense of smell is only one sense. What about my heartbeat?”

Derek shook his head. “Beating too fast to tell.”

Stiles stepped forward. Derek flinched, hunching back, curling down. The inches he’d gained away from Kate disappeared in an instant, and Stiles felt sick that it was because of him. He drew back, allowing Derek more space.

“I just want you to understand that I do mean that I’m going to try harder not to hurt you. Emotionally and physically. Is that okay?”

“Why are you asking me if it’s okay to treat me with decency?”

“Because I haven’t been doing that, have I? Not once did I ask you what you wanted from me. I also assumed what you wanted or used my own reticence to justify leaving you alone.”

“I don’t know what that word means.”

“What word? Reticence?” Derek nodded. “It’s like reluctance. Like, I didn’t stay with you in Scott’s house or have you in my house because I wasn’t sure that my resolve would hold strong.”

“That’s not reticence,” Derek pointed out. “You just said reticence is reluctance. But you said resolve. You do want me like Kate wanted me.”

“No,” Stiles snapped. “I’m not like Kate! I didn’t want the temptation to be like that bitch, so yes, I froze you out. It was for your own safety!”

Derek’s face settled into a mask, one that looked out of place now that Stiles knew how open he could be.

“My safety is not your concern, husband,” he spit. “You’ve done nothing to show me that you actually care for me. If you want me safe, leave me alone.”

He walked away, and Stiles let him go because even if he couldn’t do the right thing all the time, he could at least try. He had to start somewhere.

But, Goddamn did it hurt.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles talk, and Stiles asks Derek if Kate ever had anyone else hurt him like she did. Derek confirms that Kate let others torture (non-graphic mention) him but that only she hurt him sexually.
> 
> Starts: "Derek," Stiles said, feeling a desperate. . .  
> Ends: Derek looked at him like he was stupid. . .


	18. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Kate and Gerard are discussed. It's a given at this point.

~ * ~

Derek crawled under Danny’s desk, legs pulled up to his chest. In the room across the hall, Scott howled. Mom shot a worried look at Derek before she hurried to Scott’s side.

Derek wiped his tears away. He’d thought his mom was different, that she wouldn’t discard him. Intrinsically, he knew that Mom wasn’t abandoning him, that her new beta needed more help than he did, but it still hurt.

Danny scooted his chair back and peered down at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Derek nodded, wiping at his eyes again.

“You’re not, though,” Danny insisted. “Come on. Tell me what’s wrong?” He offered Derek a sweet, and Derek took it. He didn’t eat it, instead setting it aside for later. He hauled himself up and shuffled his feet.

Derek thought about how to tell Danny what he was feeling, and frustrated, couldn’t find the words. “I don’t know to say it,” he said.

Scott howled again, Mom answering him. Derek bit his lip until it bled, keeping his own howl inside. Mom and Scott didn’t need him right now. All he’d do is make it worse.

Danny sighed. “I think you’re feeling abandoned,” he said. “We heard your argument with Stiles. You may have been the one to walk away this time, but he’s been pushing you away or ignoring you for five months.”

“I’m not abandoned,” Derek said. He wasn’t. He could feel the pack bonds thrumming in his veins. “I’m not alone.”

Danny gave him a knowing look. “You don’t have to be alone to be abandoned.” He stood up, holding his arms out. Puzzled, Derek stepped closer. Danny closed his arms around him.

Derek tensed and then relaxed, letting Danny hug him.

“I know I’m not as important as a new beta or a—”

“Stop right there,” Danny said, sternly. “You are important. You’re as important as anyone else. I don’t care if it’s the new beta your mom just turned or your asshole husband. You are important, okay?”

“If I’m so important, why do only bad people want me?”

“I’m not a bad person, am I?” Danny asked.

“You don’t want me,” Derek answered. “Not like that.” He pushed away. “I need to think,” he said. “Stiles wants an annulment as soon as the council can grant it. I need to decide if that’s what I want too.”

“Derek,” Danny called. Derek paused, hand on the door. “Make your decision for yourself. Not for Stiles, not for your mom. Only for you. It’s okay to be selfish about something like this.”

Derek nodded, stepping out into the hall. He startled when he realized that Stiles hadn’t moved from where he’d yelled at him.

“Are you really fourteen?” Stiles asked. “I missed your birthday?”

“Haven’t you had a birthday too?”

“Yeah, but I purposefully didn’t tell you about it. How did I not know your birthday?”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” Derek pointed out. Stiles winced. “My birthday is unknown, but my mom thinks it’s in the middle of fall.”

“We don’t really have seasons here,” Stiles said.

“Which makes it hard to tell when exactly I change age. All werewolves, regardless of when they were born turn a year older on the summer solstice. It’s the only day we know without human calendars aside from the winter solstice.”

Stiles winced again. “I know that you’ve had a terrible upbringing, but I keep forgetting that you didn’t have even the basics that humans did.”

Derek thought of Danny’s words, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be selfish, and he asked, “What will you do if we are annulled?”

Stiles shrugged. “I’d probably go back to Beacon Hills, get the houses sold, see about reenlisting in the army. What about you?”

“I don’t know yet.” Undoubtedly, he’d be busy on his family’s farm. He just didn’t know how much help he’d be. “What happens if we don’t get annulled?”

Stiles swallowed at that, his heartbeat picking up. “I don’t know,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie. He was just nervous. “It’d be up to you. I wouldn’t do anything to you or with you that you’re uncomfortable with.”

“Would you kiss me?”

Stiles’ face fell. “If you wished,” he said, quietly.

“I don’t wish you to,” Derek told him. “Thank you for allowing me that choice.”

He left Stiles still standing in the hallway.

Derek didn’t know where he was going, and decided to follow his nose for a bit, see where it led. He was a little worried about the fact that so many members of the council had been hunter-adjacent. Maybe that meant there would be other people he’d have to watch out for.

He wouldn’t go far. That way, if he did encounter someone like Private Ennis or Garrison Myers, Mom was only a short yell away.

For now, though, Derek followed the stench of pain and fear until he came to a small room tucked away by the kitchen. Inside, he found Scott’s mom on a cot. Melissa the others had called her.

She whimpered when she realized he was there.

“I’m only here to help,” Derek whispered. He skimmed his hand down her arm, drawing her pain.

She lifted her head, eyes catching on his face, flaying him open with her fevered gaze. He shuddered under the weight of her knowing look.

“Oh, you poor baby,” she said through her dried and cracked lips. One of her cheeks was almost black, the outline of a fist obvious in the tissue. She had scratches all over her body. Derek could smell the loss of a child on her, and he was glad then that he was a boy. He had no doubt that if she could have, Kate would have impregnated him. It was something she used to talk to him about when she was using her stick on him.

He drew more pain. She was dying, her internal organs failing. Whatever he’d gone through with Kate was much less than whatever Melissa had gone through. She was human and couldn’t heal from the damage heaped upon her fragile body.

“You’re so young,” Melissa continued, cold fingers caressing the back of his hand. “You’ve gone through so much you shouldn’t have.”

“So have you.” He was dizzy already, but he couldn’t stop pulling her pain. There was so much of it, and he couldn’t leave her to hurt.

Melissa sat up, eyeing him with wonder. “You’re a werewolf,” she said, awe in her voice. “Sweetheart, don’t do that. You’ll only make yourself sick.”

Derek let her move his hand off hers. He sank onto the cot with her. “Just let me rest. If I can rest in between sets, then I can draw your pain indefinitely.”

“Not indefinitely,” Melissa corrected. “Just until I die.”

“They’re working on a way to save you,” Derek said. “You won’t die if they figure it out in time.”

“Be honest. Will they?”

“Probably.” He didn’t feel as bad now, and he began drawing her pain again. “I don’t know if they’ll like what they have to do.”

“Which is?”

“They have to sacrifice something. Danny’s researching it right now.”

Melissa grabbed Derek’s hand. “Promise me,” she said, squeezing as hard as she could. “Promise me that if it fails, you’ll let me die with dignity.”

Derek remembered what it felt like to wish for death, and to have the courtesy of dying on his own. He wrapped his hand around hers, pressing her fingers in tighter. “I promise,” he said.

“Thank you.” Melissa lied back, letting him take more pain.

He drew as much as he could until he was dizzy again, and then lied down too, closing his eyes to rest.

~ * ~

Derek woke up when the door opened. Melissa was still asleep, her face just beginning to pinch with pain again.

“Derek?” Danny called, and Derek slipped off the bed. Outside the room, Mom, Scott on his crutches, Stiles, and Isaac were clustered.

“How is she?” Scott asked. His fingers twitched where they were wrapped around the posts of his crutches, his claws extending and retracting. His control was at the bare minimum, but Derek understood the need to have pack and be close to them. He couldn’t stop the bitter thought that no one cared about his need for pack. Least of all the humans.

“She’s sleeping,” he said. “I can keep taking her pain, but if you’ve figured out a way to heal her enough that she can either survive the bite or stay human.”

“A small sacrifice will buy me enough power to heal her enough to hopefully survive the bite.” Danny looked uncomfortable, his scent sour with fear. “I don’t know what would happen to me if I sacrificed enough to heal her completely.”

“What are you going to sacrifice to heal her?” Derek hoped it wasn’t a person. He’d only had his mom’s stories of druids and dark druids—long before the war started, the hunters killed the emissaries of packs, druids usually, in order to limit the retaliation against them.

By the hunters’ code, Danny should have been put to death when they realized what he was.

“We have chickens here for food,” Danny said. “If I’m the one that kills them, albeit in a ritualistic manner, it counts as a sacrifice. I think I only need to kill three of them.”

“How ritualistic?” Stiles asked. He only shrugged under the weight of Danny’s glare. “I mean, do you need a special knife or a circle? Maybe a few chants? How ritualistic does it have to be and do you need help?”

Danny softened, nodding. “Help would be nice. Simon usually helps me, but I don’t want him anywhere near this. Not when it could affect our child.”

Isaac raised his hand. “Does it have to be a human who helps you?”

“Typically, another druid would be the best, but since those are in short supply, a human would work better than a werewolf.”

Isaac kept his hand up. “I think I can help you.” He shot a glance at Stiles. “I used to help my dad when he hunted for the town so I have experience with fowls.”

“That’s good,” Stiles said, “since I only have experience with people.”

It was a joke, but he didn’t smile after. He was using it to remind them that he was dangerous, that he was a killer. Derek thought it was a good point to make. Isaac could help Danny with these sacrifices, and if it turned out they needed a human to fix Melissa, then Stiles could help.

“I’ll stay with my mom,” Scott said.

“We all will,” Mom added. She moved to Derek’s side, an arm settling over his shoulders. He was almost as tall as her now and it felt awkward. He didn’t shrug her off though, his wolf settling at the touch of his alpha. “We can teach Scott how to pull pain. That way none of us get overwhelmed.”

Derek refused to be made feel guilty for helping Melissa. Since Scott was pack, it meant Melissa was too. Pack helped pack especially when they were hurt or sick, and Melissa was both.

“So it’s agreed,” Danny said. “I’ll go sacrifice the chickens. We’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”

They exchanged nods. Derek thought it was more awkward than his mother having to stand on tiptoes just to keep her arm around him.

As soon as the humans disappeared, Scott threw open the door and crutched his way inside.

“I thought he was healed?”

Mom shook her head. “He wanted control more, so we spent time working on his anchor.”

“And did it work?” Derek knew control was hard to learn; his parents had worked with his sisters and him to teach them control before Kate could find a reason to kill them.

For Scott to learn control in an hour or two after he’d admitted to wanting to rip out someone’s throat was nothing short of a miracle.

“Mom?” Scott said softly. Melissa was awake, Derek realized. She was staring at Scott, at the crutches his still held.

“Scott?” her voice trembled, shaking with several different emotions. Mostly, Derek could smell her fear and happiness. Anger and sadness warred with the other scents as well.

Love encompassed all.

Love came from Scott too.

“Mom,” he said again, dropping his crutches and climbing onto the bed. He gathered Melissa to his chest, rocking her gently as he nuzzled her hair, inhaling deeply. “Mom.”

Melissa patted at him, but it was weak. She was losing strength.

Derek stepped forward, hand extended. Melissa shuddered as he drew her pain, palm pressed against her wrist. Scott watched him, eyes hungry.

Mom joined on the other side, taking Melissa’s other wrist. “This is how we draw pain,” she said, showing Scott how to touch, how to seek out the hurt in another and move it from one body to his. Scott stared at the black veins on his own hands as he pulled his mother’s pain. Mom let him draw for just a couple of minutes before she moved his hands.

“If we draw for too long, we risk hurting ourselves beyond our ability to heal.” She pushed Derek’s hands off too, and he stumbled back, just a little dizzy. Mom pointed at him. “Like that.”

“I’m fine,” Derek insisted. “I can do more.”

“No,” Mom said, alpha in her voice. Derek bowed his head. If his alpha didn’t want his help, there was not much else he could do. Gentler, Mom said, “I don’t want you to strain yourself. You’ll only end up hurting yourself.”

“How were you hurt?” Melissa asked Scott. She trailed a hand down his right arm. Already, the scarring was reduced even if Scott seemed reluctant to use it.

“There was a roadside bomb that derailed my convoy. When we had to evacuate the vehicle, there were hunters waiting for us. I took heavy fire.” Scott’s hand curled, his fangs popping out of his gums. Melissa took his hand, opening his fingers so that she could press a kiss to each tip. Scott sighed, fangs receding. “I was in the hospital for almost seventeen months.” He touched his mom’s face. “That’s when the hunters took you, I think.”

Melissa nodded. “Three years in Gerard Argent’s compound.” She sighed when Mom drew more pain. “The things that bastard did to me…” She shook her head. “I won’t worry you with them.”

Scott looked to Derek. “I can imagine what he did. His daughter was no different.”

Melissa followed his gaze, and her eyes filled with tears. “Why were the hunters allowed to rule?” she asked.

“Because people were afraid,” Mom answered, even though Derek thought the question wasn’t supposed to be. “People saw how the supernatural were stronger, faster, more powerful, and they were frightened of it. The hunters were able to parlay that fear into control. Kill the supernaturals and their supporters and no one will be left to oppose you.”

“Why did they stop killing supernaturals?” Melissa asked. “I remember when the first war broke out. Supernaturals were rounded up and shot where they stood. Entire families, neighborhoods, cities were razed, burned, and eradicated. Exterminated like pests. And then one day, it stopped.”

Mom nodded. “I remember that too. My mother and sister were killed, and then the order to stop came.” Mom closed her eyes, the spike of sadness choked Derek, and he patted at her arm, wishing he could draw her pain as easily as he could Melissa’s. “I had a gun to my head, my would-be husband behind me, my brother behind him. My mother and sister’s bodies in front of us. I thought the hunter would pull the trigger, but he never did. Instead, he tagged us, gave each of us a sprig of wolfsbane to eat, and then loaded us into a van. By the time we were given an antidote, we were in Kate Argent’s compound.”

“You were used as breeding stock,” Melissa said. “I remember the stories. The horror of the compounds. Beacon Hills was established as a stronghold for when the supernaturals could fight back. But, the hunters knew of us. They sent recruiters to steal our children, killed a few ‘dangerous’ supernaturals, and made the rest of us complacent.”

“All my children are my own,” Mom said stiffly. She hugged Derek close, chin digging painfully into the crown of his head. “We were supposed to repopulate California so that the hunters could have something to keep hunting long after the rest of the supernaturals were extinct. Then, one of the Rebel Alliance groups designed a mutated form of distemper. Why fight when the creatures you fought over were dead?”

“We were all sick,” Derek said quietly. Before Kate had taken him, he’d gone to bed with a fever, sure that he wouldn’t live to see the morning, and then Kate had dropped a cure in Mom’s hands, promised to save all of them if she could take one thing.

Kate had looked at Derek, licked her lips, and then swept away.

Mom had apologized over and over for having to send him away, and deep down Derek knew he would never forgive her, but he understood, or at least he thought he did.

If Mom hadn’t given him to Kate, Peter, Laura, Cora, Mom, Dad, and he would be dead. Wasn’t being raped every day for three years better than being dead?

Derek still wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry,” Mom said softly. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“It’s been twenty minutes,” Scott said. “The others will be back soon.”

On cue, someone knocked on the door, and then the door opened. Danny stepped into the room. Distantly, Derek could hear thunder rumbling. Flanking Danny were Isaac and Stiles, each carrying a leather pouch that smelled strongly of sage and lavender.

Without a word, Danny pressed his hand to Melissa’s forehead, closing his eyes. He drew in a sharp breath, exhaling at the same as Isaac and Stiles opening the pouches to throw the contents over Melissa.

The thunder boomed close enough that Derek could taste the ozone of the lightning strike that brought the thunder. Danny opened his eyes, and although they were unchanged, there was a marked difference in how he surveyed the scene.

“Melissa McCall, you are healed,” he announced, voice carrying the weight of the storm. Then, he turned on his heel and marched away.

In the silence that followed, no one moved.

Melissa gasped for breath, lying in Scott’s arms. Derek shuddered against his mom, the sage and lavender tickling his nose.

“Is she healed?” Stiles finally asked. Scott ran his hand down his mom’s arm. Black veins stood out on his skin.

“It doesn’t seem as much,” he said. “Maybe?”

Mom leaned forward and sniffed Melissa. “The death in her organs is gone,” she confirmed. “Melissa, you will heal from this point, but I can bite you to turn you into a werewolf.”

“What would that do?” Melissa sighed when Derek added his hand to Scott’s. Scott was right; there was far less pain to take.

“It would make you like Scott: able to heal many of the most grievous of injuries, with claws and fangs to help protect yourself.”

“I’d be able to rip out Gerard Argent’s throat?” Melissa asked.

“If you so desired,” Mom said. “Although I seem to recall hearing that Gerard Argent is already dead.”

“If only he could be killed again,” Melissa said. “What are the risks of the bite?”

“It might not take, which means the bite would kill you. Scott survived the bite, so your chances are good. I understand if you don’t want to take that risk.”

“I think I will wait to heal more before the bite,” Melissa decided. She sat up, kissing Scott’s cheek before she turned to Isaac and Stiles. “Thank you,” she said. “And tell Danny thank you too.”

“Of course,” Stiles murmured. He nodded to Scott and then stepped back, heading for the door.

“Wait,” Derek told him. He scrambled off the bed and hurried to Stiles’ side. He wrapped his arms around Stiles and gently squeezed. “Thank you,” he said too.

“Of course,” Stiles said, and Derek heard the truth in his words. Stiles would do it again if necessary. Stiles would sacrifice a human if it were asked of him.

It sunk in, then, for the first time, that if they were granted an annulment, Derek would likely never see Stiles again. And for the first time, he began to think that wasn’t what he wanted.

“Stay?” he asked, meaning in his life. Stiles took his hand and stroked his thumb over the back of Derek’s hand.

“Of course,” he repeated.

Derek led him to the bed. “Melissa, this is my husband,” he said, proudly.

“I’ve heard,” she said. She shot an unreadable look at Stiles before turning to Derek. “Are you happy?”

“No,” Derek answered honestly, “but it is not only because of Stiles. He has not mistreated me in the way Kate did.”

“That is wonderful to hear,” Melissa said. “As nice as it is to be here, surrounded by loved ones, I believe I am hungry. Is there a place to eat?”

“The kitchen,” Derek said. “It is full of food and there are others willing to share.” He looked to Stiles. “We could go?” He wasn’t hungry himself, still full from before, but he thought he saw relief and joy on both the generals’ faces at Melissa’s announcement. Melissa was right; it was nice to be surrounded by pack, which included Stiles and Isaac. He opened the door, waiting until Melissa was supported between Isaac and Stiles and Scott had his crutches again.

Food first. Then, Derek was positive he would know the answer to Stiles’ question. He would know if they should be annulled or remain married.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-edited. Will edit when story is complete. Thanks for reading.


	19. Sixteen

~ * ~

The kitchen was empty, dishes stacked neatly, waiting to be put away. Danny bowed out, heading for his office-turned-apartment where his husband? lover? was waiting.

The rest of them sat around the island, watching as Melissa tore into a sandwich.

She managed several bites before shaking her head, too full to continue despite her obvious desire to.

Derek took the plate and set it in the sink, turning on the faucet. Stiles opened a drawer. Silverware. He shut it and chose a different drawer. Towels. He took a small one and used it to scrub at the plate, using the small bar of soap still wet from the earlier dishes.

He grabbed another towel to dry it and add it to the pile.

Talia supported Melissa on one side while Isaac helped her on the other. Scott trailed them, using his crutches less and less as they moved.

Stiles let them go ahead, throwing open the cupboards and putting the dishes away. Derek watched him silently for a few minutes before helping.

He was too short the reach the top shelves, so Stiles took care of those.

When they were done, Stiles jammed his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

Derek pursed his lips, studying Stiles with a disinterested eye.

“I’m going to go,” Stiles said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in a vague gesture. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Derek nodded slowly, and Stiles let out the breath he had been holding.

He smiled tentatively. Derek returned the smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Stiles could see how he was assessing the situation. He didn’t blame him. Derek had been through a lot in his life. Stiles could wait for the answer he sought.

Derek headed for the room Melissa was in. he paused at the turn of the corridor, looking back at Stiles. “I think,” he said softly, “that we should be annulled. Not because it’s the right or good thing to do, but because it’s what should happen. Can you honestly say that you’ll be happy married to me? That you’re happy now?”

“Of course I’m not happy now,” Stiles said. “But it has less to do with being married to you and more to do with the past eleven fucking years of my life.”

“And that is another reason for us to be annulled,” Derek pointed out. He looked down at his feet, shoes, sneakers that Stiles had last seen when he was fifteen. They were worn thin, and he could see Derek’s toes poking out from the left shoe. “I know I’m not able to live in the world by myself yet, and I know that I’ll probably always be followed by people who want me because of what Kate Argent did to me. But I want to learn how to take care of myself before I commit to someone else.”

He turned to leave, turning back again to add, “I would have committed to you if you had required me too. Thank you for giving me a choice.”

All Stiles could think to say was, “Thank you for making it.”

Derek nodded, disappearing around the corner.

Stiles sagged against the wall, head spinning. As Derek had said, it wasn’t the right choice or the good choice but the best choice for them. Of course, he couldn’t help thinking a little bitterly, it _was_ also the right and good choice.

He really wanted someone to tell him that he was allowed to grieve the end of his relationship. He knew though that he wouldn’t ever be given that courtesy. It hurt that he was effectively alone now. His last support had wanted to tear his throat out.

Stiles had to wait around for the council to reassemble and annul the marriage. Until then, he needed somewhere he could hide to lick his wounds.

If he recalled correctly, there was an alcove near the entrance to the council building. It was perfect if it was empty.

Stiles passed several supernaturals who scuttled out of his way or gave him a wide berth.

He ignored them, figuring that they were reacting to how he still carried the stench of Gerard Argent’s compound.

The alcove was occupied by a woman with a ball of yarn and a mouth that stretched to her ears.

She brandished the yarn at him, hissing like a cat. He held up his hands, stepping back.

She stopped, looking around at the alcove. “Do you want?” she asked, standing up.

“No, it’s okay,” he said, shaking his head. “You were here first. I’ll just find somewhere else.”

She cocked her head, studying him. “You want company?”

Stiles wasn’t sure about that, but if she was willing to sit with him, he wasn’t going to turn her down.

Besides, it might be nice to actually talk to someone about something other than his terrible choices and career.

Of course, that required the woman to talk to him in the first place.

“I’m Stiles,” he said, offering to hold her yarn. She let him, using her fingernails to pick at the yarn, weaving it between her hands. She already had a length of rope coiled on the floor.

“My name is Miyako.”

“What do you do here, Miyako?”

She shrugged. “Different things. Mostly I cook. Sometimes I heal. Often I scare.” She turned to him, opening her mouth wide. He counted her sharp teeth, nodding when she closed her mouth.

“That’s impressive,” he said.

“They’re mostly for show. I don’t use them, not as my grandparents did. The teeth of a kuchisake-onna are plentiful, but they are weak. We are like sharks, I think. When one set falls out, another grows. For this trait, we were imprisoned by the hunters, my sister and I. She was sent to one compound and I to another. She died protecting a child from a predator far worse than we.” The look she leveled at him was full of meaning, and Stiles felt his stomach twist sickly.

“Kate Argent killed her,” he said softly.

She nodded, facing forward, nails clicking together as she wove more yarn into the rope.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to infiltrate the compound in time to stop her death.”

Miyako nodded sharply. She stood up, taking back her yarn. “I think,” she said, “that I would very much like to be alone right now.”

Stiles understood. He didn’t know what he would have done if he’d lost Scott when he first was injured. As it was now, well, Stiles completely understood the need to be alone with one’s grief, and he didn’t begrudge possibly the only person in this Godforsaken building who’d talk to him without bringing up his mistakes and throwing them in his face.

It wasn’t fair to Miyako, though, that she had been treated like that or that her sister had been killed. It wasn’t fair to the supernaturals, and Stiles was beginning to believe that it never would be no matter how long the war dragged on. As long as people like the hunters existed, or even worse, the apathetic citizens who watched dispassionately as their neighbors were killed or imprisoned, the supernatural population would never be free.

Stiles clenched his hands. He was part of the problem, he knew that. He killed the hunters, true, but he hadn’t used the college tour for what it should have been: as a way to rally people, to show them that the intolerance of the hunters and the disinterest of others was wrong. That the only thing to do for intolerance was to be intolerant of the intolerance.

Standing up to the hunters was all fine and good, but what happened when the last hunter was dead and supernaturals were still treated as lesser beings?

Stiles made a decision, jumping to his feet and marching to the double doors leading to the council’s chambers. He drew in a large breath and shoved through.

Alpha Satomi and Elder Deaton were standing at the council’s table, discussing in sharp whispers. Stiles cleared his throat. They looked at him dismissively.

“I wish to throw my name in for consideration,” he said.

“What?” Deaton demanded.

“I want to be considered for the revised council,” Stiles said. “I know that I can help create legislation. I’ve been on the front lines. I know where we fail our population. I can help fix it.”

“You want to help rule the Republic?” Satomi asked. “Why?”

Stiles held his head high. “Because I have amends to make,” he said. “Not for what I was or what I did in the name of the Rebel Alliance, but because I haven’t continued to fight for supernatural rights. I’ve spent so long running from what I was becoming. Now it’s time for me to make a stand.”

“And creating laws, voting on issues, policing others,” Deaton said, “that’s what you want to do?”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s what I have to do.”

Satomi and Deaton shared a look. Satomi turned to Stiles. “Very well,” she said. “We will add your name to the list of candidates. Thank you, General.”

“Thank you,” Stiles returned, bowing.

“We will let you know whether you are assigned to the council or not,” Satomi said, dismissing him.

Stiles stepped back. His chest was tight, and it was hard to breathe, but he felt settled, like he was doing the right thing. He nodded sharply and marched out of the room. Now to wait. For this, he thought, he’d wait forever.

~ * ~

Stiles was asleep, curled in the alcove, when something crashed nearby. He jumped to his feet, going for his gun even though he’d surrendered it when he entered the building.

He skidded out into the reception area to find a fully shifted wyvern standing over the destroyed desk. The lamia who was usually seated behind the desk was curled under the wyvern’s wings.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked, searching the room for a threat. He found nothing of note except the little goblin, Danny’s husband.

The little being groaned again, hands pressed to his swollen stomach. “I’d hoped with the human DNA that the little one wouldn’t have a short gestation, but I guess I was wrong.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

The goblin nodded. “Can you find Danny? Agatha and Sarah can make sure I get to the medical ward.”

“Sure, yeah. I’ll just go do that.” Stiles hurried toward Danny’s office, but he wasn’t there.

Isaac was though, sitting on the trunk, eating what looked like a jam sandwich.

“Where’s Danny?”

Isaac shrugged. “He was called in to the council’s chambers. I think they’re choosing the members now.”

“Great. Let’s go.” He grabbed Isaac’s arm, and Isaac recoiled. Stiles cursed himself. How could he forget? Isaac wasn’t good with fast or aggressive movement. He let him go, watching as he scrambled off the trunk and scuttled into a corner, cowering down.

“No, hey, you’re okay,” Stiles said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Isaac frowned. “You didn’t hurt me,” he said, puzzled.

“I scared you, and that’s hurting you.” Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. “I need to find Danny,” he said, softening his tone. “His…husband is going into labor, I think.”

Isaac nodded, standing upright again. “I’ll get him,” he said. He was trembling, still frightened, and Stiles stepped back to let him pass. “Where is Simon going?”

“To the medical ward.” Stiles noticed no one else was around, and bit his tongue to ask after them. Isaac was already gone anyway.

Stiles felt useless. He was sure now that the council wouldn’t accept his bid, and he would be left behind while everyone else picked up their lives. He wanted to help too, but what if his help wasn’t needed?

Idaho had seemed to be on the road to recovery. Gerard Argent excised and the hunters left leaderless. Tennessee was still the only truly free state, but it was because they’d managed to amass enough supernaturals willing to stock their army, and hunters with rifles and crossbows were no match to teeth and speed.

Maybe Stiles could help tame Utah?

“I can smell you thinking,” Scott said from the doorway. Stiles’ head snapped up. “Stop it, you’re making yourself miserable.”

“I’m not allowed to be miserable?” Stiles asked, without heat. Scott still looked like he’d been slapped.

“Of course,” he said, finally. “You’re allowed to be anything.”

“Except helpful,” Stiles said.

Scott shook his head. “I don’t know if you truly want to be helpful so much as needed.” He glanced behind him, and Stiles saw why when Derek ducked under Scott’s arm.

“Simon is having his baby now,” Derek said. “I want to go. Danny and Simon were nice to me the first time I was here. I want to be nice for them too.”

“Do you know where the medical ward is then?” Stiles asked.

“I do,” Talia said from the hallway.

Scott made a face. “My mom,” he said.

Talia nodded. “Derek, come here.” When her son reached her, Talia bent to whisper against his ear. She straightened. “Come, Scott. We’ll stay with Melissa.” She turned to Stiles. “Derek will take you to the medical ward if you wish.”

Stiles shook his head. “Danny hates me,” he reminded her. “I think he’d be happier if I stayed far away from him.”

Stiles didn’t mind being left behind because it meant he could ask the council if they had come to a decision.

Derek had agreed to an annulment. It was best to break their bond quickly. Of course, Stiles wondered, perhaps they hadn’t spent enough time to create a bond?

Werewolves were among the most tactile of the supernaturals. In his years as a soldier and then an assassin, Stiles had witnessed numerous werewolves trapped in solitary cages, begging for someone to touch them, begging for an affectionate caress that would never come as long as they were trapped.

Stiles had hugged many of the werewolves that he’d freed. He hadn’t hugged Derek that night when he killed Kate, and he wondered if their lives would be different if he had.

Hugging Derek now would not change things, but Stiles wondered if it would make him feel better about it.

He discarded it as selfish. The next time he saw Derek, he would ask if he could hug him, and take his cues from the boy.

For now, he wanted to check on the council, to see if they had decided yet.

~ * ~

“General Stilinski,” Deaton said from behind the table where he, Satomi, and the other three members of the council sat, papers and pencils at the ready, “thank you for joining us.”

Stiles glanced at the filled gallery. He wasn’t sure if he wanted a witness these proceedings, but he thought it was honorable of the council to allow the people in to see the appointments.

One by one, Deaton greeted and thanked the candidates. Stiles was surprised to see his father. Just as shocked as Father John was by the look on his face.

They stood on opposite ends of the line. Stiles felt his chances, fleeting at best, were null with the presence of his father. No one knew that he had abandoned his son after his wife had died. Everyone knew he and Rafael McCall had created the Rebel Alliance even if they were not officially credited.

If anyone deserved to be on the council, it was John Stilinski who had lost his best friend shortly after he had been promoted to general.

Not Stiles who had been given the title general to appease his forced removal from the army and had promptly married a child.

“As you know, we recently had a purging of our ranks to clean out the abscess of hunters. As such, we now need to appoint ten new council members. You all have either been invited or have allowed your name for consideration.” He gazed at them, face unreadable. “There are twenty of you. Half of you will be asked to accept a position on the council. Half of you will not. May the best candidate be assigned.”

Then the questions began. Each of them being asked and answering. One round of the same questions, another round of different questions, recommendations allowed from different seats of the gallery.

Finally, three hours later, Deaton settled back in his chair, setting his pencil down and nodding to the other council members.

“We will need another hour of deliberation,” Satomi said. “If you will all excuse us, someone will come to collect you shortly.”

Who, Stiles wondered as they were ushered out by the people of the gallery. The receptionist had gone with the wyvern to Simon’s birthing, and Stiles hadn’t seen any of the other supernatural staff since he’d woken up in the alcove.

With nothing to do but wait for an hour, Stiles turned to the lamia’s destroyed desk. He began sorting the pieces, setting aside what could be salvaged and what couldn’t.

His dad knelt down next to him. “Stiles, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles moved another piece, finding papers stuck underneath it. Order forms. Food. He placed these in a pile to give back to the lamia. He knew enough about bureaucracy that anything on paper was required to be saved.

“You’re trying to join the council,” his dad said, grabbing Stiles’ arm to stop him. “Why?”

Stiles shrugged him off. “Why not? I’m useless everywhere else unless the council decides to reinstate me in the army. You know that as well as I do. You also know,” he added in an undertone, “that I am one of the most qualified to humans to make legislature that benefits the supernaturals.”

“And we all know that humans will never be as qualified to make rules for the supernaturals,” John said. “We’ve already proven that since 1985.”

“What I don’t understand is how it got so bad so quickly. Why were the hunters allowed free reign to destroy the United States like that?”

John sighed. “It was one more thing on top of everything else. Wages were crap, people couldn’t afford basic necessities. The hunters promised to fix it when the government wasn’t doing enough. We didn’t know that their solution would be to gain control of the government and then disband it. We didn’t know that they held more than politicians responsible for the state of the country. You see, when the average person was struggling to make ends meet, no supernatural family ever appeared to struggle.” He sighed again. “It was propaganda. There were humans who didn’t suffer as much either. It had more to do with how much wealth they’d amassed before the economic crash. Some people had more, and the hunters used it to spark the war.”

“It’s been thirty years. The Rebel Alliance and now the Republic have been in existence for less than half of that time.”

“It takes time to organize a resistance. There comes a point when even the least likely person will take up arms to change the world around them. But most people need that push. For us, it was when our neighbors and children were taken from us. That was when Rafi and I decided we had to be the ones to stop the hunters. Rafi died for our cause.” John looked down at his hands, clenched into fists. “Sometimes I wish I had died too,” he admitted quietly.

“I know that feeling,” Stiles said, focusing on what looked like part of the chair. “It’s stronger when I spend time around people because they remind me that I don’t fit.”

“Exactly.” John pointed at him. Then, he stood up, offering a hand to pull Stiles up too. “It’s been about thirty minutes. Do they really expect us to wait for a whole hour?”

Stiles shrugged. “You want them to make the best decision they can, right? Then give them the time they asked for.” Stiles glanced around at the milling people. “I think you’re a shoo-in.”

“Thanks, Stiles.”

Stiles couldn’t tell if his father was speaking sarcastically or not. He didn’t have a frame of reference for how his father was supposed to respond to him. He knew his father wasn’t able to predict how to respond to him either, but that was John’s fault. He’d left. Stiles hadn’t.

Someone cleared their throat loudly before announcing, “The council is ready to make their decisions.”

Stiles saw Miyako standing in front of the council’s doors, her mouth opened wide. She fixed each candidate with a narrow gaze.

Once everyone was settled, the twenty candidates standing in their row in front of the council’s table, Deaton rose to his feet, shaking out his robe and raising a paper to his face.

“The following people have been agreed upon to join the council. Please step forward when your name is called.”

He then listed four names.

Four people stepped forward.

“Please raise your right hand,” Deaton instructed them. Brett moved from behind the table to stand next to them, a pot of ink with a feathered quill in one hand and a blank piece of paper in the other. “Do you accept the position as assigned to you, to serve this country to the best of your ability for you and your fellow man? If you do, sign the paper and take your seat.”

All four people signed quickly, moving to settle into the seats on the left of the table where Caltharbairn had sat.

Deaton sat down too, and Satomi stood up, lifting her own paper. “The following people have been agreed upon to join the council.” She called four names. The same ritual repeated.

That was eight seats filled. Two more seats.

Stiles refused to look at the eleven other candidates, his eyes on the lizard woman as she stood, her paper still on the table.

“The following people have been agreed upon to join the council.” She paused, studying the candidates before turning sharply to her right, staring at Stiles as she said, “John and Mieczysław Stilinski, please step forward. If you accept the duties placed before you, please sign and take your seat.”

Stiles’ hand shook so hard that he wasn’t sure his signature would be legible, but it was apparently good enough for Brett who blew on the paper to dry it and then laid it in front of Satomi.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Deaton said, “welcome to the council.”

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're on schedule for one more chapter and then an epilogue. I will try to have both posted next Saturday.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who followed this story. I will be going through it after it is complete, but not for a few months to a year, and fixing any errors, plot holes left unanswered, or just filling in background information that either didn't make it in or I didn't have time to write.


	20. Seventeen

~ * ~

Simon’s labor was over quickly, and the new parents graciously allowed each of them a turn to hold their baby. Derek gazed down at the small bundle. It was green like Simon and it had Danny’s hair.

“He’s beautiful,” Mom told them.

“Of course he is,” Danny said. “Simon incubated him.”

“He would have been just as perfect if Danny had been the one to gestate.”

Derek studied them both curiously. He hadn’t been sure that they’d used their magic to make the baby, but why wouldn’t they? Clothes were parlor tricks. A baby was real magic.

“We’ll have a new one at the farm in a few months,” Mom said. Derek glanced at her. “A werewolf who served in the army. He’s joining our ranks, bringing his wife with him. She’s with child.”

Derek thought of Private Ennis and shuddered. His mom shot him a look of confusion, and Derek knew it was because his scent had just changed from happy to sour and scared.

“I thought you had to petition the council to have pack members added,” Isaac said.

“We do if we bite them, as we did with Scott and will have to do with Melissa,” Mom explained. “And already bitten or born werewolf is allowed to join without the council’s permission as long as the new werewolf does not create an issue.” She put her hand on Derek’s shoulder, squeezing to impart some comfort. “Vernon and his wife have met with us briefly. His wife is actually the one who taught us some of the farming techniques we use. She’s human and he’s bitten.”

Vernon. Derek turned the name over in his mind. Vernon Ennis? Ennis Vernon? It didn’t fit either way. Derek tugged at Mom’s sleeve. “What’s his last name?” he asked.

“Vernon Boyd.”

Derek didn’t recognize the name at all. “What about his wife? What’s her name?”

“Erica Reyes.”

“From Beacon Hills?”

Mom nodded. “Do you know her?”

Derek pointed at Isaac. “He helped me take produce from Scott’s garden to her stand. She was going to have me work for her but we came down here.”

Another thought occurred to Derek. If Erica had taught his family how to garden, then now, more than ever, with Scott joining the pack, he was obsolete. Maybe he shouldn’t go through with the annulment? No. Derek was tired of being ignored by his husband. Surely even being useless with his family was better than that.

“Okay, much as this is fantastic,” Danny said. “My husband just gave birth. We’d like some time to bond with the child. You can visit us again later.”

Mom ushered them from the room. “If you need anything,” she said. Danny waved her away.

“I need to ask the council’s permission to bite Melissa now,” Mom said. She touched Derek’s cheek. “Is your marriage going to be annulled?”

Derek shrugged. “It is if the council has enough people again.” his stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought. What if the council wasn’t ready? Would they have to leave Melissa here? Scott was healing, slowly. He’d heal faster if he had his mother with him.

“It’s been a few hours. I think they might have enough for a quorum now,” Mom said. “We can see.”

Isaac stopped them. “What about me? The council refused to grant me the bite. Do I have to go back to my dad?”

“I can ask the council if they’ll make an exception or allow you to live with us as a human. With Erica joining the pack, I don’t see why you can’t.” She squinted at Isaac. “How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen. I was supposed to go to college in the fall, but I knew my dad wouldn’t let me. And then Redding was burned to the ground.” He shrugged one shoulder. “They were very hunter-sympathetic so I don’t mind about that.”

“You are old enough to make your own decisions. If you want to join our pack, you’ll have to make the motion to the council.”

Isaac nodded sharply. “Thank you.”

Mom shook her head. “Don’t thank me yet.”

They arrived at the council’s doors. They were open, people streaming in and out of the room. Beyond that, Derek could hear the scratching of writing sticks on ration papers. Fifteen sticks all scribbling. He looked at Mom, and she nodded.

“The council is full again,” Derek told Isaac.

The Kuchisake-onna from the kitchen opened the doors. “Business with the council?” she asked. Derek recoiled, remembering the Kuchisake-onna from Kate’s compound. He still missed her viscerally even though she’d been killed when he was still ten. She’d cared greatly for him, looked out for him from her position in Kate’s kitchen. This woman sounded almost exactly as she had.

A look of sorrow pinched the woman’s face at the same time her grief enveloped Derek.

“My sister,” she said softly. “She told me of you. My name is Miyako.”

“Thank you,” Mom said. “For your sister’s sacrifice.”

The Kuchisake-onna snapped her gaze onto Mom, her face twisted into rage. “At least my sister did something,” she spit, mouth cracking open wider, cheeks swelling with teeth. “She didn’t hide behind the fear of death.”

“If I had died, my whole family would have been killed,” Mom said. “I was given a choice. Save everyone and let one die, or save one and let all die. I made my choice, and I haven’t forgiven myself for it.”

“But he has,” Miyako said. She stepped back, allowing them past. As Derek passed her, she grabbed his arm. “You have options now,” she said. “Don’t let them win.”

“They won’t,” Derek promised, frightened at the strength she used to hold him in place. “I won’t let them.”

She nodded, letting him go and stepping back.

Derek rubbed his arm.

He couldn’t get his mind to stop spinning. He knew that Mom had given him up. He’d been mad and bitter about it for a long time. But, by the time Stiles had killed Kate and rescued him, he’d mostly forgiven her. The fact that when they were in the barracks waiting for the council to tell them where they should live, his whole family had stayed with him, around him, touching him constantly, had made him happy and warm in a way he hadn’t been in years. And then Stiles ripped them apart.

Derek was so used to having to do what the hunters, what Kate, had wanted, that he didn’t even feel angry when he was sent to Beacon Hills with the generals.

Now, he knew, he was angry, hurt. He felt betrayed. He felt…like he was supposed to be dead right now.

He didn’t question that his mom loved him—she smelled of it whenever she looked at him, guilt burning the edge of her scent.

He questioned whether he loved himself enough to do what was right.

And what even was right? Submit to Stiles? He would have. Go with his family? That was never an option before.

Whatever was right, Derek knew it wasn’t here, standing in a crowded room, being stared at by people he didn’t know, who didn’t know him. But, here was maybe the beginning.

Derek marched up to the council, shocked and trying to cover it when he saw Stiles sitting behind the table.

“I am here to request that my marriage to General Stilinski be annulled.”

Silence fell swiftly.

Stiles cleared his throat, standing up. “I wish to second that request,” he said. He refused to look at Derek, and Derek didn’t know if he was grateful for that.

“Members of the council,” Elder Deaton spoke. He kept his eyes locked on Derek, the directness burning a hole through Derek’s flesh. He felt raw, stripped bare, and struck with weapons. He felt like he was standing in Kate’s throne room, waiting for her punishment.

“How vote you, members of the council?”

Quietly, a chorus of ayes broke over Derek.

“Opposed?”

Not a single word.

“Then it is so moved. The marriage between Werewolf Derek Hale and Human General Stilinski has been annulled as if it never were. The rings, please.”

Derek pulled off the ring from his finger, laying it upon the table. Stiles set his on top of it.

The first breath Derek took as he stepped back felt like knives in his chest. He could smell the misery on Stiles, wished it wasn’t reflected on him. He passed Mom and Isaac as they stepped up to the table, already requesting Isaac to join the pack.

Derek slipped out the doors, heading for somewhere that wasn’t here. Somewhere he could rest, learn to breathe without hurting, and just be by himself again.

He almost laughed. The one thing he’d hated about Beacon Hills, that he was left alone, was the think he sought most right now.

The first sob caught him off guard, and he stumbled to a stop.

Kate hadn’t liked his tears unless she caused them. He’d worked hard to hide them, perceiving them as a weakness.

Standing in the middle of the council building, sobbing harshly, tears flooding down his face, felt like strength.

Derek was strong.

~ * ~

Derek found an empty fountain in a central yard. There were several doors and no windows, and it was deserted.

He settled on the lip of the fountain, leaning over to stare down at the patterned stone. He picked up a thin circle, rolling it between his fingers. He didn’t recognize the engraving, but he liked it. It had a howling wolf printed on one side with a man and a woman on the other. Derek thought they looked like the picture of the first werewolves.

Kate kept a painted picture of them in her bedroom. Derek used to study it when she left him bloodied and tied, healing sluggishly from the wolfsbane she packed into his wounds.

He’d asked her about it once, when he’d used his mouth until it was numb, and she was too exhausted to punish him for his insolence. She told him then that they’d been killed by her ancestors, their fortune stolen, used to hunt their pack and all the packs after. In fact, Kate had said, the Argents had taken their name from the coins they’d stolen.

All these coins, Derek thought bitterly, blood money. he wanted to drop it where he’d found it, but he couldn’t let it go. He wanted it, a link to his ancestors like what Kate had had.

It wasn’t fair that she’d gotten to take so much from him and still she’d wanted more.

She wanted him alive and dead and if she couldn’t have him, no one could.

He was broken, unable to be useful.

Derek let his claws poke out, testing them against the stone of the fountain. He could fight, he thought suddenly, almost hopelessly. If Stiles could join the army, so could he.

Except. Derek didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to hurt someone like how Kate had hurt him.

He didn’t want to be like her.

Fighting wasn’t the answer. Maybe some time it would be, if the world was still in need of a soldier when he was ready, but for now, what Derek thought he’d like to do was ride the trains until he saw the whole world.

He wanted to go somewhere, anywhere where it didn’t hurt to be, where he wouldn’t be reminded of Kate or Stiles or how his mom, his family had given him up to the very thing that they should have protected him from.

He wanted to find out who he was, learn himself again, be who he was supposed to be and not what everyone else expected.

Derek just wanted to be true.

He stood up, tucking the coin into the little pocket in his pants. For now, going with his mom back to the pack was what he was supposed to do. he couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t what _he_ needed to do. He could go with them, with Mom, Scott, Isaac, and Melissa, go back to his sisters and his uncle and his father. he could survive them.

After all, he’d survived Kate.

~ * ~

When Derek reentered the building, something made him stop, and he shifted his hearing, trying to find it.

There. A low groan. Derek hurried forward, keeping close to the walls. Different supernaturals watched him as he passed. He ignored them. The groan sounded again, and he knew then that it was Melissa.

She wasn’t groaning now. She was howling, whimpering. She was a werewolf.

Derek stopped moving. Mom bit her. He wasn’t sure why that surprised him so much. It was why she’d gone in front of the council again—and how much of a fucking gut punch was it that Stiles got to move on and be part of the council now—that and to ask to have Isaac live with them.

Mom was picking up betas everywhere. She wouldn’t miss him if he just slipped out to the train and rode it to the end of the line.

He pulled out the coin, running his thumb over the embossment. It could buy him a ticket, but it wouldn’t get him far.

Melissa howled so loud that Derek felt it inside his head. He gritted his teeth, feeling his fangs drop. Sharp pain lanced through the bond, and for once Derek hated it so much that he wished it would just stop.

The pain doubled, and he dropped to his knees, the coin rolling away from him.

He curled into a ball, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. The pain was like a live wire, one of Kate’s electricity poles, pressed to his breastbone. His jaw locked and he couldn’t scream.

Minutes passed before the pain abated and he was able to blink open sticky eyes. Miyako knelt by him, one hand on his shoulder, the other holding out the coin.

“I believe you dropped this,” she said, her voice soft. Derek took it with shaking fingers.

He cupped it in his palm, studying it before handing it back. “You can have it,” he said. “My debt for your sister’s death.”

She sighed, closing his fingers around it. “I don’t want it,” she said. “It’s yours. It’s part of your birthright, your inheritance. Tell me, child, what can you smell?”

Derek frowned at her. She moved his hand under his nose, and he inhaled. “Metal,” he told her. “Silver.” There was something else underneath the metal though. A liquid smell, one of pain and fear. Suffering. It smelled like Kate’s throne room.

Miyako nodded. “My sister stole this coin from Kate Argent. She did it because the monster was going to kill her pet that night. Instead, the monster killed my sister. Akari. My little sister.”

“You put it in the fountain,” Derek realized. Miyako nodded. He tried to offer it to her again, and again she pushed his hand away.

“I do not need it, child. It is yours.” She moved back, standing up. “At least you won’t hurt someone for it.”

“Your sister died to protect me,” Derek said. “I want to make amends.”

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

Miyako smiled. “To thank me, all you must do is live.”

She helped him up. “You have a new werewolf in your pack.” She looked like she knew that Derek was thinking of running away. “You should go see her. She needs support right now.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to let them win.”

Miyako bowed her head. “You aren’t supposed to let your mother win. You deserve better from your pack. These new pack members can help you.”

“You are angry about your sister.”

“I am,” Miyako confirmed. “But I am also angry on your behalf.”

“Kate would have killed my family if Mom hadn’t done what she had.”

Miyako did not respond to that.

Derek squared his shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, but I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to all the time. That’s my point.”

“If I don’t, who will?”

Derek walked away from her, heading toward Melissa’s recovery room.

Miyako didn’t follow him. Derek didn’t look back.

~ * ~

Inside the room, it was stifling, too hot and the scent of blood lingered. Isaac was cowered in a corner, hands over his ears. Scott was leaning against the wall, concentrating on healing, the sick smell of rotted flesh finally fading completely as he straightened.

On the bed, Melissa writhed as Mom applied pressure to her side. Her cheek wasn’t black anymore, and it wasn’t sunk in either.

She was healing faster than Scott, but Derek wasn’t sure if that was to be expected with the different injuries they had suffered.

“There you are,” Mom said. “Come, take her pain. The more we can take, the easier it will be for her to heal.”

Derek obediently took Melissa’s hand, drawing her pain. “Would you be mad if I didn’t go with you to the farm?” he asked quietly, knowing that all of them could hear him anyway.

Mom jerked away from Melissa, turning to face him. “What?”

Derek kept drawing Melissa’s pain. “The farm,” he said, just as softly. “I don’t want to go there. What would I do? I’m not useful there. I can’t read or write. I can help with labor, but you have so many betas that would you really need me for that?”

Mom looked, smelled, and sounded furious when she said, “You’re my son. You will always be needed.”

“So, yes, you will be mad if I don’t go.” Derek let Melissa’s hand go, stepping back. “What if I told you that I don’t want to go, that it makes me upset to even think about it.”

Mom loomed over him, and Derek tried not to think of Kate. “You have no choice in the matter. You’re my son. You’re coming with me.”

“Actually,” Scott said, “the Republic of California has something called emancipation where a minor can legally separate from their parent or guardian provided that there is sufficient evidence that the minor is in duress.”

Mom paused, looking from Scott to Derek. “Are you?” she asked, swallowing hard. “Under duress?”

“Am I?” Derek asked.

Mom nodded.

Scott rolled his eyes, shoving off the wall. “Just ask him what he wants,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Derek, do you want to go to your family’s farm?”

“No,” Derek said. “It was Kate’s compound.” He shivered, rubbing at the raised bumps on his arms. “I don’t think I can ever feel comfortable there.”

“We live where the huts used to stand,” Mom said.

Derek shook his head. “That doesn’t make it better.”

“Derek,” Scott said, “where do you want to live?”

He shrugged. “Everywhere, I guess? I want to travel. I want to ride the trains.”

“It’s not safe,” Mom said, and Scott shot her a severe look. She shut up.

“Derek, your mom is right; it’s not safe for supernaturals to travel alone and unaccompanied minors are at more risk. Especially you. If you can either wait until I’ve learned control or until you aren’t a minor anymore, then you can go. If you can’t wait, then I’ll help you seek emancipation.”

“How long until you can learn control?”

“Not long, with the pack surrounding me.”

Derek made eye contact with his mother. “I can wait until Scott learns control. Not longer.”

“Agreed,” Scott said, stepping forward to shake his hand. “Once my mom is strong enough to travel, which shouldn’t be much longer, we’re going to ride down to Chula Vista.”

“Am I needed until then?” Derek asked. When no one said anything, he opened the door. “Don’t forget that the trunk is still in Danny’s office,” he told them.

Speaking of, he should go see if he could hold little Nathaniel again.

It might be the last time he’d ever see Danny and Simon and their son again.

Before he could head back to the medical ward, the receptionist lamia stopped him.

“The council requests your presence for a few moments, Mr. Hale,” she said.

Derek wanted to stomp his foot. He thought he was done with the council. Apparently not. He sighted. As long as they didn’t try to marry him off again. He just might bite them.

She opened the doors for him, and he nodded his thanks.

As one, the council rose when he approached their table. The crowd murmured softly among themselves, and he could hear his name falling from their lips. It was disconcerting to be sure.

“Derek Hale,” Elder Deaton said. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Did I have a choice?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Stiles said. “You always have a choice.”

“Okay. Good bye.” He turned on his heel, and Stiles yelled, “Wait!” He turned back, arms over his chest.

Stiles cleared his throat, face turning red. “We wanted to let you know about the first piece of legislation that is being passed. We’re calling it the Derek Hale Act.”

Derek frowned at the use of his name. “Why?” he asked.

“Because,” Stiles’ father said, “it is to instill protections for supernatural minors. It is now a crime to attack a supernatural minor, whether it be physical, sexual, or otherwise.”

Stiles cleared his throat again. “It means that you can’t be married without your express permission ever again. Not to me, not to anyone.”

That took care of Ennis and Caltharbairn, although Derek doubted either of them would have followed this law.

“And what about Garrison Myers?”

“Garrison Myers was sentenced first thing once the council was complete again. Your annulment was our second accomplishment. This is the sixth thing we’ve accomplished today.”

Derek did not feel reassured. “Your new law,” he said, “does it stop Garrison Myers or people like him? You’ve accounted for the people like Private Ennis, but have you accounted for people like Garrison Myers?”

“I understand your concern,” Stiles said, “and I can assure you that we have taken precaution to account for as many different forms of assault that we can, but I want you to remember that we can amend the law afterward if it happens that we missed a definition.”

Derek still wasn’t satisfied, but he could realize that the council was trying. It was a better experience than his first time, he could admit.

He bowed his head. “Is there anything else the council requests of me?” he asked.

“Not at this time, no,” Elder Deaton said. “The council wishes to thank you, Derek Hale, for your patience and understanding.”

Derek bit his lip to keep from scoffing at him. Patience and understanding? No, Derek had been trained, living in a world where supernaturals were less than animal, to do what the humans wanted him to do. The only patience and understanding he’d had to extend was for his own sake so as not to be killed.

Elder Deaton sat down, the rest of the council following.

Derek turned, taking it as his dismissal. No one stopped him.

Outside of the council’s chambers, Derek sagged against the wall. His eyes burned like he was going to cry again, but it wasn’t the same overwhelming relief and fear as last time. This time, he felt empty, and he didn’t know why.

He rubbed his knuckles across his eyes, breathing deeply.

He’d been on his way to visit Danny and Simon and their baby.

Derek straightened and started walking.

~ * ~

Danny and Simon welcomed him happily. Simon was still bedridden, explaining that it would be another week before his body was ready to support his weight again.

“Goblin physiology,” he said, winking at Derek.

Derek pretended he understood and smiled.

Danny held Nathaniel, sitting in a rocking chair that hadn’t been there last time.

“Am I wrong?” Derek asked, studying

“Wrong about what?” Danny asked.

“I don’t want to go with my mom back to where the pack is.”

“And why is that?”

Derek shrugged. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, “for maybe all the years, but my mom gave me up. It was to save the rest of my family. But…”

“But you’re not sure you can forgive her,” Danny said. He sighed, handing Nathaniel to Simon. He opened his arms, and Derek let himself be hugged. Into his hair, Danny whispered, “You don’t have to.”

When Derek pulled back, Danny wiped his face. He’d started crying and he hadn’t noticed.

“If you’re not ready to forgive your mom for not protecting you, for throwing you to Kate Argent, then you don’t have to. Worry about your healing and not hers.”

“I want to travel,” Derek said. “I don’t want to be stuck in one place anymore. Scott said he’ll travel with me, but he needs to learn control first. What do I do until then? My mom doesn’t need me. My pack doesn’t need me.”

“Did the council grant your annulment?” Danny sounded surprised. “I thought it would take them longer to find enough people willing to sit.”

“Stiles and his father joined,” Derek said.

“And they still granted the annulment? Congratulations.”

It seemed sincere.

“Thank you,” Derek said.

Behind the buzz of the medical ward, he could hear someone calling his name.

“Derek?” Danny said, and Derek turned to him. “Did you want to hold him?”

Derek nodded, so Danny pushed him into the chair, settling Nathaniel into his arms. The baby blinked, yawning widely. Even though he was green, his gums were pink. Derek let him wrap a tiny fist around one of his fingers.

“He’s so small.” Derek marveled at the strength in Nathaniel’s grip.

“Babies are small,” Simon said. “You were small once.”

“I don’t want to be,” Derek said softly. “If I hadn’t been small, Kate wouldn’t have picked me.”

Danny and Simon exchange looks.

“Probably,” Danny finally said. “They used to have a word for what she was. Pedophile. Someone who was interested, sexually, in underdeveloped people. In children. Most hunters have some perversion that was made either legal or just ignored.”

“And the council was supposed to stop it,” Simon added. “They failed once. Hopefully they don’t fail again.”

Derek’s name was called again, and this time he could hear that it was Scott.

He handed Nathaniel back to Danny. “I have to go.” On impulse, he hugged Simon. Danny set Nathaniel down in the trolley the ward-nurses used to transport him so he could hug Derek again.

“I’ll send you a letter,” he promised. “We both will. And you’ll write us too.”

“I know how to read my name,” Derek said. “That’s it.”

Danny wrestled the anger off his face. “You can learn,” he said. “We’ll still write you. We’ll wait for you to write us back.”

Derek waved at them and then hurried to where Scott was standing in the entrance to the medical ward, sniffing the air.

“I’m here,” Derek said. “What do you need?”

Scott nodded at him. “Your mom’s beta and his wife are here. They came in on the last train. There’s another train leaving in about fifteen minutes. We’re going to be on it.”

“We’re leaving now?” Derek glanced back at Simon’s recovery room. He turned back to Scott. “Your mom is strong enough to travel?”

“She is,” Scott confirmed. “I’ve already popped into the council’s chambers to say goodbye to Stiles. Did you?”

“I don’t want to.” Scott nodded at that, and Derek wasn’t sure if it was relief or sadness that tore a hole in his chest when he thought of how he’d never see Stiles again, never go to Beacon Hills and be locked out of the house, never sleep in a trunk again.

He hoped it was relief, but he wondered at the pain.

Mom, Isaac, Melissa, and two other people were waiting when Scott and Derek stepped outside the building.

Derek shrugged at the heat, feeling sweat already prickling on his skin. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the coin, running his thumb over the wolf’s head before jamming it back inside.

Erica grinned at him, introducing her husband, a large man with a thin mustache and kind eyes. “Oh!” she said suddenly, digging into the large bag hanging off her shoulder. She pulled out a package tied tight with twine, thrusting it at him.

Derek accepted it, puzzled. He pulled the string, opening the crinkled wrapping to find a t-shirt, the font of her produce stand stamped across the front.

“I’m going to be establishing a stand down here too,” she said. “I’ll need help.”

He nodded, wrapping the package again, tying the string sloppily. “Thank you.” It was something he could do. Maybe he’d be useful after all.

Melissa was hugging Isaac who was crying. Derek wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

Erica pulled him aside anyway, whispering against his ear too low for Isaac, the only other human to hear, “His father died in an accidental fire about three days ago. He’ll have to go back to Beacon Hills to sort it out, but he doesn’t have to worry about his father anymore.”

“Is that a good thing?” Derek asked. He knew he was supposed to be grateful that Kate was dead, and he was now. When it had happened, he’d been terrified and unsure. He thought he knew a little of what Isaac was going through. “I can go with him if he needs help.”

Erica squeezed his hand. “I’m sure he’d be thankful for that,” she said.

Boyd bought the tickets for all of them, paying with a handful of ration papers. Then they boarded the train.

As it pulled out of the station, Derek watched the town receding as it sped up. He could hear his pack around him, chattering excitedly. Even Isaac laughed through his tears. He didn’t join in, the pain in his chest fading slowly. He could feel his edges grating against those of his pack, but instead of hurting more, it felt like he was starting to carve out his own place.

For the first time since they’d stopped in San Bernardino, he found himself actually looking forward to going to Chula Vista.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is unedited due to time. Also, I haven't had time to write the epilogue, so I will try to get that done tomorrow.
> 
> Thanks to all who followed this story. It's almost done.


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote used is from Lev Grossman.

~ * ~

Stiles leaned against the window. Already he felt stifled.

He missed being on the council, but he agreed that it was time for him to retire. He was now forty-three. Elder Deaton had left the council shortly after Stiles joined, citing a need for younger faces to shape the future. Alpha Satomi had followed, as had the lizard-lady, Cathalina. Brett, six of the other new appointees, and for seven years, Stiles’ father also remained.

Slowly, in about a decade, the legislation drawn up and put into place began showing the effect. The Republic healed. The Coalition of States healed.

Allison Argent hadn’t been put to death, but she’d served time. Eichen House had been dismantled and a hospital stood in its place. Chris Argent joined Braeden and Kira’s mercenary army and traveled to other states, bringing the remaining hunters to their knees and reuniting the states.

They again were known as the United States of America, and they were at peace with themselves. For the last six years, a new government had been proposed and each of the states had worked to make it better than the last, to make it less fallible.

Representatives from each state sat in a council like the state councils, adapting state laws into country laws.

Schools taught the before, the after, and the between. The supernatural population was recovering, but none as quickly as the werewolves. Talia Hale’s brother and oldest daughter already had packs of their own. Peter Hale was working to be elected as California’s representative while Laura traveled with her brood, seventeen strong, testing various laws and reporting back to the councils on where improvement was needed.

The Hales had done well for themselves, but Stiles tried to avoid any mentions. He had made his peace with Talia years ago, but Derek was still aloof and often was gone from the farm. Stiles didn’t mind; he wasn’t sure what he would say to him anyway.

 Things had changed for Stiles. Serving on the council had settled him in a way life never had before. He’d had time to start and attend a PTSD clinic that helped with his urges. He sent the information to Talia for Derek, and she thanked him, but he never saw the boy there.

John had died five years back. Massive heart attack. Stiles had mourned him, not as his father, but as a colleague. He was buried in Beacon Hills, next to Stiles’ mother. Stiles had been back only twice. Once to sell the house and again for his father’s funeral. He never intended to return as long as he lived.

Without the council anymore, Stiles needed a new direction in his life. Speaking with Deaton on the subject had led to a revelation that maybe Stiles was ready to tour the colleges again. He had almost immediately discarded the idea. Touring the colleges was exhausting and Stiles didn’t have the heart for traveling anymore.

Instead, he decided to become a teacher.

And that was how he found himself sitting at a table, head against the window, waiting for the professor to enter and call class to order.

_Supernatural Studies 101_ seemed interesting, and there had been great reviews from other students, so Stiles had enrolled in U-SoCal, bought the textbook—a thin paperback of published proofs of supernatural beings written by Miyako Hamada. After his first year on the council, he hadn’t seen the Kuchisake-onna, but he still remembered their conversation and he hoped she had found peace.

Another student dropped into the seat next to Stiles, throwing his book on the table and leaning back with a sigh.

“This is stupid,” he muttered.

Stiles studied him out of the corner of his eye. He had a backward hat on, a streak of turquoise cutting through his dark hair. He reminded him of a child of a hunter. Stiles rolled his eyes at him.

“Hey,” the student whispered. “Can I borrow a pencil?”

“What? Didn’t bring your own?” Stiles dug into his bag to find a spare writing utensil. His fingers brushed the pocket where he kept his treasures, and he pulled out a handful of rocks, the coin Lydia had given him, and the pencil for the unprepared student.

“Cool stones, bro,” the kid remarked as he accepted the pencil. “Where’d you find them?”

“Southern California,” Stiles said absently. He nudged the largest one, about the size of his fingertip. They were the same color as Derek’s eyes. Green and blue sea glass polished smooth. He’d been at Hermosa Beach during a brief reprieve from his duties on the council. There had been a stand by the sand, and Stiles had bought all the glass offered, returning most of it to the ocean. These pieces he’d kept solely because they reminded him of Derek’s eyes, and he hadn’t wanted to let that go. He still had every letter Scott had sent, with Derek’s photos. The glass was supposed to be in that box too, but he hadn’t had time between resigning from the council and showing his replacement how to draft legislation.

“Can I have one?”

Stiles shot the student a look of disgust. “No,” he said.

“Whatever.”

A commotion at the front of the room drew both their attention. The professor had finally entered the room, and now he was sitting on the edge of his desk, studying the room while they stared back at him. The commotion had been a few of the students falling out of their seats.

Stiles wanted to scoff at them. So their professor was attractive. So what?

“Good morning,” the professor said. “If you’ll settle down, we will take attendance and then we’ll go around the room and introduce ourselves and share one fact about us and why we’re taking this class.”

The buzzing of the students did not stop, and Stiles found himself annoyed. What had been a promising class was quickly becoming a drain. He didn’t blame the professor, but he didn’t seem inclined to stop the hushed whispering, smiling as if he could hear them just fine and liked what they said.

Stiles wondered if the professor was a supernatural of some kind. His money would be on werewolf, simply because of the way he leaned back on his desk, a smirk on his lips as he surveyed the room, amusement evident in every line of his body.

“Okay, so you’re not great at following directions,” the professor said, standing up. He grabbed a stack of papers handing them to the front row. “Pass it back. That’s the syllabus. Everything you need to know is in there.”

Once everyone had a copy, he settled on his desk again, a ledger open, pencil poised. “Attendance and then one fact about yourself.”

“And the reason we’re taking this class,” one of the most whispering students reminded the professor. He nodded and called the first name.

Stiles snagged a syllabus and then froze at the name at the top.

This class was supposed to be taught by Professor Reina Jimenez.

Not Derek Hale.

Stiles swallowed hard, thumb rubbing at the name. Sixteen years and he was back in the council building, Derek next to him, he was back in Kate Argent’s compound, Derek hiding behind her throne.

He looked up to find the professor—Derek—staring at him.

Stiles ducked back down, face burning. The student next to him nudged him. “Are you okay, man?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles said tightly. He had to wonder why Derek was still here. He’d spent as much time avoiding Stiles as Stiles had him. Why else would he never be home when Stiles interacted with the Hale pack? Besides, Derek, as the professor, would have access to the class list before the first meeting. Surely he’d seen Stiles’ name.

“Mieczysław?” Derek said, and Stiles knew it wasn’t the first time from the exasperation in his voice.

Stiles cleared his throat. “I prefer Stiles,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

Derek nodded sharply, the only indication that this was as hard for him as it was for Stiles. “What’s one fact about yourself?” he prompted.

“I collect things,” Stiles said, staring at the sea glass, wondering if the student next to him realized that they were the color of their teacher’s eyes. “I’m taking this class because I want to learn more about supernatural history, about the contributions they were able to make before the war, and the contributions made since.”

Derek nodded, less sharply. He looked impressed for a split second, and Stiles felt warmth bloom in his chest.

“Aaron?” he asked, and the student next to Stiles raised his hand. “Present,” he answered cheerily. “I play basketball and I’m here because it seemed like a cool class.”

“Well, I certainly hope it lives up to the hype.” Derek smiled.

The first lesson was spent going over the syllabus, and Stiles noticed there was an apology from Dr. Jimenez stating that she had been required for advice on a new law being drawn up but that she knew Professor Derek Hale was more than qualified to teach the class.

Stiles knew what Derek had overcome and he couldn’t be prouder to be sitting in the lecture hall, listening to Derek talk. It was obvious that he’d spent much of the past decade and a half traveling the United States, collecting firsthand stories that he said he was compiling into a second book like Miyako Hamada’s.

Afterward, when Aaron had returned Stiles pencil, and the rest of the class had cleared out, Derek paused by Stiles’ table.

“A word, General?” he asked softly.

Stiles fumbled with his bag. “Sure,” he said with a throat that was suddenly dry.

Derek took Aaron’s seat. He stared at Stiles for a long moment before he turned to face forward. “When I saw your name on the class list, I almost backed out. I wasn’t sure how you’d react to seeing me again.”

“I’ll admit, it was a bit of a shock,” Stiles said. “But, I’m glad you were here.”

Derek glanced at his hand before looking at his face. “You’re not married?” he asked.

Stiles shook his head. “I’ve been busy.” Quieter, he said, “I didn’t know if how I treated you was how I’d always treat a partner, and I didn’t want to be that person again.”

Derek nodded like he understood. “I’m not married either,” he said, holding up his bare hand. Wrapped around his wrist was a braided cord. Stiles recognized it as a symbol of the Hale pack. “I didn’t think I could stand to be treated as I was for the first half of my life.”

“You deserved so much more.”

“I don’t love you,” Derek said. “I don’t think I ever did. I think it was just hero worship. You rescued me from Kate Argent. For that, I’ll always be grateful.”

Stiles felt his hands clenching. He still sometimes received vitriol about the whole marriage, but he understood. He opened his hands. He hadn’t learned to love himself during his therapy but he could stand the person he’d become.

“I wish I could have been there sooner,” Stiles said. “I wish the war had never happened, that there hadn’t been a need for a second war or the army. I wish I’d never hurt you.”

“‘If there’s a single lesson that life teaches us, it’s that wishing doesn’t make it so.’”

Stiles didn’t recognize the quote, but he liked it. It rang true.

“No more wishes?”

“Only if you realize that it doesn’t change anything.” Derek sighed, running a hand through his hair, making it stand up. “During my travels I learned a lot about myself, and while I realized that I didn’t love you when I was thirteen, I did realize that I _could_ love you. You’re not a bad man despite what everyone told you. If I had to be married again, I could be with you.”

Stiles nodded. “I think that too sometimes,” he admitted. He dug out the glass and the coin, laying the former on the table. “I still collect things for you.”

Derek picked up the glass, laying it in his palm. “You do?”

“Yeah. It’s a habit. I write letters now too. Well, I mean, I wrote them before but I felt too guilty to send them. Now, it’s because I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

“I’m not sure I would have read them anyway. I was angry for a long time.” Derek set the glass down, turning fully to face Stiles. “I’m not angry now,” he said. “Do you want to get a drink with me sometime?”

Stiles stared at him. “A drink?” he asked faintly. “Sure, yeah. When?”

“Well, I have three more sections of this class. I know Professor Rosa took the last section. You might want to transfer to that one. After, we can go for a drink.”

Stiles nodded almost frantically. “Yeah, sure, that sounds great. Um, do you have a phone now? I still have my same number.” He dug out a notebook and a pencil, setting the coin aside to scribble his number. When he tried to hand it to Derek, he found him staring at the coin.

“Where did you get that?” Derek asked.

Stiles shrugged. “A long time ago, someone gave it to me. She said I’d need it more than her.”

Derek pulled an identical coin out of his pocket. “These used to be the currency of a long-ago pack. This money funded the first Argent hunters. It’s long been thought that they were all melted down for ammunition.”

“So the fact that we have them?”

“Means that the hunters couldn’t get rid of all of them. There’s still evidence of supernatural beings everywhere in everything.” Derek swept both coins into his hand and then pressed them into Stiles’. “You keep them. We’re working on making a museum of supernatural history. It’d be a great donation to get us started.”

“So why don’t you take them now?” Stiles asked.

Derek smiled at him. “We need humans to donate items. If you, General Stilinski, donate personally, others will be compelled. Supernaturals were not allowed to save their history. Others saved it for us.”

Stiles tucked the coins away. “Does this affect that drink?” he asked.

“No,” Derek said, studying him again. It felt intimate, like a caress. Stiles shivered under his gaze. Derek looked away. “Not unless you want it to,” he said.

Stiles touched his shoulder and when he turned back, he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was far more than he’d ever done to Derek before, and he felt nervous, sick, and worried while Derek waited for him to pull back.

He had a look of wonder on his face, touching where Stiles’ lips had been. “Is that what it feels like?” he asked.

“Is that what what feels like?”

“Kissing.”

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah. I think so. I mean, you’re the first person I’ve ever kissed, so I don’t know if I did it exactly right.”

Derek leaned forward, slotting their mouths together. They stayed there for a few seconds before separating.

“No, yeah, that’s much better,” Stiles said.

Derek laughed, pushing at his shoulder. “Go, change your section. I’ve got to get ready for my next class.” He picked up the paper with Stiles’ number on it. “I’ll call you tonight and you can decide when we get that drink. Okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

They both stood up, and Stiles realized that Derek was a touch taller than him. Heavier too, filled out and so, so different from the malnourished boy he’d first met. No wonder he hadn’t recognized him at first.

“I’ll call you,” Derek said again, and Stiles nodded. He held open his arms, remembering that werewolves were very tactile and that he’d been stupid enough to not give Derek the affection he’d needed the first time around. Derek stepped into his arms, laying his head on his shoulder.

It felt right this time, and Stiles smiled into Derek’s hair. He couldn’t wait to start again.

~ The End ~

Sixteen Years Later:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 months and 80K later, it's finally done! Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, kudos, subscribe, bookmark, and comment!
> 
> I will be re-reading this story at some point and fixing any plotholes, awkward phrasing, random tense changes, etc. in three-twelve months.


End file.
